Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Brie
The beach house sits like a fortress against the gray Atlantic horizon, its modern glass and steel structure incongruous among the weathered cedar cottages that dot this stretch of the Long Island coastline.
Even in October’s fading light, I can see why Elena chose this place—isolated, defensible, with clear sight lines in every direction.
“Two vehicles in the drive,” I murmur into my comm unit, adjusting the tactical vest beneath my jacket. “Looks like a black SUV and what might be a sedan.”
Hudson’s voice crackles through my earpiece. “FBI is in position on the perimeter road. Her security team surrendered their guns. Claim no one else is with her. You’ve got fifteen minutes before they move in. Let’s see if you can get her to talk.”
Fifteen minutes. That’s not a lot of time for a productive confrontation, and I’m skeptical it will amount to anything. Elena Vasquez is unlikely to give up information freely, and she’s already proven she’s willing to kill.
Adrien shifts beside me in the passenger seat, his jaw tight with tension.
We were told to hold until the perimeter units made contact with her team—if there was going to be a gunfight, it wouldn’t be ours.
This is good news. It’s not entirely unexpected that her hired security team would step aside for the FBI, but it could’ve gone either way. Now, we’re up.
“You sure about this approach?” He’s understandably concerned, but he’s an important part of this plan, and I need him alert but confident.
“She’s cornered and desperate. She’s also a former intelligence operative who understands the value of information over violence.
” I check my sidearm one final time. “Plus, she’s not going to want to fight murder charges.
If that bomb had succeeded, she would have counted on it never tracing to her.
All we have to do is tell her the FBI is outside her door, and she won’t shoot. ”
What I don’t repeat is that Elena’s profile suggests she’ll want to gloat first—to explain how she’s outmaneuvered us even as everything crumbles around her.
That psychological need might be our only advantage.
That and our quick response time. We pulled this together within twenty-four hours of learning her location.
Chances are any plan she’s developed isn’t fully loaded.
If the FBI brings her in, she’ll lawyer up. And worse, she’s got ins with the FBI, definitely with the DOJ. I’m not sure I trust them to bring their A game.
The house’s security lights flick on as we approach the front door, motion sensors tracking our movement.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see into a sparsely furnished great room with a view from the glass front door straight through the back of the house to the ocean.
Elena Vasquez stands with her back to us, phone pressed to her ear, gesturing animatedly at whoever is on the other end.
“She’s got to know we’re here,” Adrien observes. “Assuming her guards haven’t informed her, almost all security systems offer a view of the driveway.”
“Remember, if she’s aware of the FBI’s presence, this will be quick. If she’s unaware, we play to her ego.”
I press the doorbell, the sound echoing through the house like a funeral chime. Elena turns slowly, her silver hair perfectly styled despite her predicament, her posture still radiating the confidence of someone accustomed to being the smartest person in any room.
She ends her call and walks to the door, opening it without any hesitation.
“Officer Anderson. Mr. d’Avricourt.” Her voice carries that familiar slight accent, refined by decades of careful cultivation. “I expected a phone call, not an in-person visit. But I must say, as I’ve learned more about you, I’m not surprised you found me.”
I’m no longer a CIA officer, but I don’t gain anything by correcting her. Perhaps she’s a believer in ‘once CIA, always CIA’. “May we come in?”
Elena steps aside with exaggerated courtesy. “By all means. Though I should warn you, we don’t have long before this conversation becomes academic.”
The interior of the house is as stark as its exterior—expensive furniture arranged with clinical precision, no personal touches beyond a laptop open on the glass coffee table and stacks of file folders scattered across every surface.
Evidence of a woman trying to save herself through paperwork and connections.
“Busy evening?” I gesture toward the laptop.
“Productive evening.” Elena moves to pour herself a glass of wine from an open bottle of what looks like a very expensive Burgundy.
She doesn’t offer us any. “I’ve spent the last several hours providing federal prosecutors with a comprehensive account of how Adrien d’Avricourt conspired with Jonathan Pierce to manipulate Senate defense appropriations. ”
The words hit exactly as intended. I feel Adrien stiffen beside me, but I keep my expression neutral. This is the gambit Eddie warned us about.
“That’s an interesting story,” I say. “What evidence supports it?”
Elena’s smile is razor-sharp. “Please don’t act like you’ve come here in ignorance.
You’re well aware of the evidence.” She’s speaking to us like she believes we’re being recorded—and a team is listening in, so she’s correct.
“Phone records showing multiple calls between d’Avricourt and Pierce in the weeks before key votes.
Financial records indicating suspicious transfers between d’Avricourt Luxe subsidiaries and Pierce’s consulting firm.
Testimony from a concerned federal employee—me—who discovered the conspiracy and felt compelled to report it. ”
“Fabricated evidence,” I say, but I have to admit, I admire her twist.
“Prove it.” Elena takes a sip of wine, savoring both the vintage and our predicament.
“Even if you could—which you can’t, because there’s evidence—the investigation alone will destroy Adrien’s business and possibly his family’s too.
His reputation with the banks, with the public.
All of it gone while prosecutors sort through the complexities. ”
“And you claim innocence?” Adrien speaks for the first time since entering, a carefully controlled stillness to his frame.
“I am the whistleblower who exposed governmental corruption at great personal cost. A patriot who sacrificed her career to protect democracy.” The grin on her face strikes me as demented.
Elena moves to the window, gazing out at the dark ocean.
“Any charges against me—which I’d like to remind you, right now there are none—will disappear.
If my position in the administration is revoked, I’ll relocate.
Rebuild. If I lose my spot within the government, the sacrifice will be worth it to know that I stopped an extortionist from forcing votes from senators. ”
The audacity is breathtaking—and exactly what I expected from someone with Elena’s psychological profile. Unfortunately, I don’t see an in to negotiate or to draw out anything truthful.
If glares could kill, Adrien’s deadly stare would end her. I’m certain if he wasn’t hyperaware of the feds listening in he’d strangle the woman. His jaw clenches; the breath he takes is controlled, expensive whiskey turned to ice.
“There’s just one problem with your plan,” I say.
“Oh?” Her cheeks are rosy, although it’s not clear if that’s from joyful exuberance at winning or if she’s been drinking all evening.
“You’re too late.”
Elena turns from the window, and for the first time, I see uncertainty flicker. “Meaning?”
“The men you hired for perimeter security? They’re currently having a very reasonable conversation with federal agents about the benefits of cooperation over obstruction of justice.
Turns out they’re not particularly loyal to someone who can’t guarantee their paychecks.
Or maybe it’s just that there are limits to loyalty and prison is their line. ”
The rosy color fades.
“This house is surrounded, Elena. FBI tactical teams, local law enforcement, and Coast Guard offshore. There’s no exit strategy. No one’s going to buy what you fabricated. Pierce talked. That much you know. The bomb? It didn’t take the FBI long at all to trace the delivery to you.”
“You’re bluffing.”
I am lying about the bomb. We’re still working on tracing the source, but I know she’s responsible.
“Really? Then why didn’t your security stop us? Meet us in your driveway?”
I pull out my phone, showing her the text I received five minutes ago.
Perimeter secure. All subjects in custody. Green light.
Elena stares at the message, her composure finally cracking. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”
“Enlighten me.”
This is where she’ll ask for lawyers.
She drains her glass, then strides to refill it.
Adrien and I exchange a glance. Any minute now the FBI will likely approach.
With her back to us, she says, “Pierce was small-time. A pathetic little man who thought he could buy influence with Champagne and empty promises.” Elena’s voice takes on a manic edge, and with a full glass of whatever she’s drinking, she twists to face us.
“You think he was the only one buying? You have no idea how deep this goes. Defense contractors, pharmaceutical companies, foreign intelligence services—no one wants this to come out.”
“Names, Elena. Give me names and this ends differently for you.”
Elena laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Right. You probably expected me to ask for lawyers, right? No one’s going to leave me in a cell.”
If she thinks she’s going to walk scot-free, her ego is bigger than her profile suggested.
“The network doesn’t die with me—it just finds new leadership. There are people who won’t let this investigation destroy decades of carefully cultivated assets. Those men out there? The ones presumably listening who have surrounded us? Their bosses don’t want the truth coming out.”
She reaches for her purse, a Fendi bag sitting on the glass table beside the laptop. My hand moves instinctively to my weapon as she withdraws a small, nickel-plated pistol.
“Elena.” I draw her name out, tracking her line of sight to Adrien. “No one will get you off murder charges.”
“You think I’m afraid of prison?” She grips the gun with both hands, but instead of pointing it at us, she points it under her chin.
My stomach freefalls.
“I spent my career in shadows, controlling the power players, shaping history from behind the scenes. I won’t spend my final years in a cage.”
“Elena, you’ve planned your court case. You’ve already laid the groundwork.” She hasn’t. We’ll blow through her fabricated evidence, but she’s egotistical enough, she might buy my pitch.
Elena’s eyes meet mine, and I see not fear but calculation.
“Tell Alicia Morgan she knows too much. Tell her the network remembers its friends—and its enemies. Oh, and your little company. KOAN, you call it.” Out the window a flash of the SWAT team approaching catches my eye—hers too.
“They’re being watched. The Moores… Tell them they’re making enemies. ”
FBI agents, guns raised, approach the front door.
We all clock them.
Elena’s grip steadies, resolute.
Before I can respond, before I can lunge forward or find words to stop her, she pulls the trigger.
The sound echoes through the glass house like thunder, and then there is only silence and the glimmer of moonlight over the water beyond.
Blood splatters on the cream sofa and floor.
Her lifeless corpse crumbles. The Burgundy topples, dark silk spreading across the rug, a stain that looks almost elegant until it doesn’t.
Ten minutes later, as federal agents process the scene and EMTs confirm what we already know, I stand beside Adrien on the deck, both of us staring out at the dark Atlantic.
“It’s over,” he says, but his voice carries no relief.
“No,” I reply, thinking of Elena’s final warning, of the names she didn’t give us, of the network she claimed would outlive her. “I don't think it is.”
She knew that Caroline Moore funds KOAN–that’s not easily accessible information. And it seems we’ve pissed off some people who don’t want a group like KOAN to exist.
My phone buzzes with an incoming call. Hudson’s name appears on the screen.
“You heard everything?”
“Yes. You good?”
“I’m good.” I look at Adrien, who has his arm around me, but his attention is directed to the swarm of FBI agents. “Noah did a security assessment for Alicia Morgan, right?”
“Yes. Completed two days ago.”
“She needs security.”
“So I heard. Update relayed. She’s aware. So is the boss. You and Adrien headed back to the city?”
Adrien’s standing beside me, and he hears the question. He mouths the words, “Up to you.”
“Yes. When we’re cleared here, we’ll head back to his place.”
“Sounds good. Regardless of what she said, you should be safe. No one’s going to do anything that risks leading a federal investigation to their door. We’ll regroup tomorrow.”