Chapter 40
Forty
7:45 AM – The War Room
T he FBI’s resident agency in Pierre was buzzing with a quiet, calculated energy. Maps of the city were tacked up on the walls, bullet points marking key targets. Warrant packets were stacked neatly on the conference table, bearing the names of judges, politicians, law enforcement officials, and federal agents who had spent years under Fairchild’s thumb.
Noah stood with his arms crossed, eyes locked on the operational layout. The room smelled of stale coffee and tension, the kind that settled in your bones before something irreversible happened.
Alex, standing to his right, let out a slow breath. “You sure about this?”
Noah didn’t even blink. “We don’t have a choice. This doesn’t stop until we end it.”
Brad Killian stepped into the room, his presence commanding immediate attention. He was flanked by Evan Shipley, the deputy U.S. attorney who had been part of South Dakota’s system long enough to know which way the wind was blowing.
Brad’s voice was even but laced with steel. “Everyone knows their assignments. We go in simultaneously. No leaks. No screw-ups. No mercy.”
Evan Shipley tapped the file in his hand. “The state’s attorney is going to be our biggest fish. Taking him down is going to send a shockwave through the entire system.”
Alex smirked. “Good. Let them know no one is untouchable.”
Noah turned toward the team. “Fairchild is mine.” His voice was flat, final.
Brad nodded. “Alex is going with you. FBI tactical will be staged two blocks out, ready to move in. We have a ten - minute window before his security team figures out what’s happening and tries to extract him.”
Alex rolled his shoulders. “Let’s go get this bastard.”
* * *
9:00 AM – Fairchild’s Private Estate, North Pierre
Fairchild’s mansion loomed over the landscape like a fortress, a sprawling estate tucked behind wrought-iron gates and reinforced security checkpoints. His money had bought silence, protection, and an entire network of criminals in suits.
Today, all of that ended.
Noah adjusted his vest, his heart beating in an even rhythm. He and Alex sat in an unmarked vehicle across the street, watching as Fairchild’s personal security detail changed shifts.
“That’s our window,” Alex murmured, checking his watch.
Noah nodded. “Let’s move.”
They exited the vehicle, moving swiftly but calmly toward the main gate. They were expected—Fairchild believed Luke Andrews had them in his pocket.
A guard stepped forward, his hand resting near his holster. “You guys are early.”
Noah’s smile was razor-sharp. “Change of plans.”
Before the guard could react, Noah drove a fist into his gut, knocking the wind from his lungs. Alex stepped forward, slamming the man’s head against the gate with a sickening crack.
Two more guards moved, reaching for their weapons.
Alex pulled his firearm, his voice deadly calm. “Don’t.”
They hesitated, and in that half-second, the reinforced steel of the front gate exploded inward as FBI tactical swarmed the estate.
Gunfire erupted inside. Noah and Alex moved fast, slipping through the chaos as Fairchild’s hired mercenaries tried in vain to protect their boss.
Noah kicked in the doors, his weapon raised. “FAIRCHILD! U.S. ATTORNEY’S OFFICE. HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”
Inside, Fairchild stood by his bar, unbothered, swirling coffee in a large mug. He smirked. “Took you long enough.”
Alex stepped forward, his gun never wavering. “On your knees. Now.”
Fairchild exhaled dramatically, setting his glass down. “This is cute. But you and I both know you’re making a mistake.”
Noah’s jaw clenched. “Only mistake was not coming for you sooner.”
Fairchild moved—reaching for a hidden pistol under the bar.
Noah didn’t hesitate.
A single shot rang out.
Fairchild collapsed, his shoulder blooming red.
He screamed, clutching the wound as Noah loomed over him, shoving him onto his belly and slamming the cuffs onto his wrists.
“I hope you enjoyed your last drink,” Noah muttered. “Because the only thing you’ll be sipping now is prison tap water.
* * *
9:15 AM – Downtown Pierre
While Fairchild bled onto his designer suit, the rest of his empire was crumbling.
Evan Shipley and a fleet of FBI agents descended on the offices of judges, politicians, and law enforcement officials.
The state’s attorney barely had time to stand up from his desk before Evan Shipley put him in cuffs.
Matt Brandt was found hiding in a courthouse conference room, sweating through his suit, screaming about how he had done everything Fairchild wanted.
Brad Killian personally oversaw the arrest of two FBI agents and a U.S. Marshal, dragging them from their offices in full view of their colleagues.
The mayor and deputy mayor of Pierre were pulled from a breakfast meeting, their faces ashen as reporters snapped photos of them being loaded into a squad car.
By noon, the sun was at its peak, and Pierre was no longer under Fairchild’s thumb.
* * *
12:00 PM – FBI Resident Agency, Pierre
Fairchild sat in an interrogation room, his arm bandaged, his expensive suit ruined.
Noah leaned against the wall.
“You thought you were untouchable,” he mused, his voice deceptively calm. “But now, your empire is gone. Your allies? All in custody. Your money? Seized. And you?” He smirked. “You’re just another criminal in cuffs.”
Fairchild exhaled, shaking his head. “I underestimated you.”
Noah leaned in. “Everyone underestimates me.”
Fairchild smirked despite the pain. “You think you’ve won?”
Noah’s expression darkened. “I don’t think, Fairchild. I know.” He stood up, adjusting his jacket. “Enjoy the rest of your miserable life behind bars.”
And with that, he walked out—leaving Fairchild to rot.
* * *