Chapter 14
Mateo stared at the pitiful lump of shit chained to the table in front of him.
The bright overhead lights and stark surroundings of the room put Suede’s rough night on full display.
His white undershirt was filthy and torn at the neckline, and his gold chain, which had been broken in the struggle with Mateo was now absent.
His forehead had been cleaned and bandaged, but had started bleeding again, a crimson stain showing against white gauze.
A nasty road rash stood out on one cheek, red and angry.
His lower lip was busted and swollen, and he’d likely bitten it when Mateo had taken him down.
At close range and in this lighting, Mateo could finally make out the cursive scrawl of Suede’s neck tattoo.
Thug Life.
Donovan sat in the only other chair in the room, directly across from the pimp.
Arms crossed, legs spread and slouching, he silently stared Suede down.
Mateo paced behind him, hands shaking from hunger and fatigue.
There hadn’t been time to get back to his hotel to shower and change clothes.
There wasn’t time for coffee or breakfast. As the blistering sun had risen over New Orleans for the day, Mateo, Donovan, and Darcy had come straight to the field office.
He had given Smith, Williams, and Jones strict orders to go back to the hotel and rest. He didn’t want to see them again until at least noon.
This gave him and Donovan five hours to crack Suede, and Darcy the same amount of time to sift through what had been found at the NOLA house.
An entire room filled with hard drives and a surveillance bay had been discovered, and Darcy had copied everything onto her own drives so she could start investigating.
“Cut the shit, Tariq,” Mateo said, hands folded behind his back as he paced, back and forth, back and forth.
“You want to know what you’re looking at here?
A mandatory minimum of fifteen years for trafficking.
Ten more for the drug charges. Don’t even get me started on the RICO and conspiracy charges.
You’ll spend the rest of your life in a cement box. ”
Suede shrugged. “If I’m up on all those charges, what’s the point in talking?”
Mateo paused as if thinking that over. “You know, you have a point. We have more than enough evidence for a conviction. There’s the footage of you with Wilson and Morrison at Solstice and the wiretap recordings on which you mention ‘fifty fresh ladies new to the circuit’ as well as the NOLA house, which has your name on the lease.
There are the victims we found imprisoned inside that house.
There are the crates of the BAZ-024 drug we found in the basement and manifests of distribution plans and destinations.
And to top it all off, you were apprehended with a .
22 caliber handgun on your person while fleeing a trafficking site during a federal raid.
That’s what is affectionately known in the bureau as a slam dunk. Yeah, Donovan?”
“Absolutely,” Donovan replied. “And you should know that Morrison has been apprehended in a raid on Berenger Warehouse. There is currently a warrant out for the arrest of Lieutenant Wilson, so we expect him to be brought in sometime today. What we found further solidifies your ties to Morrison and Wilson, as well as Valemont Holdings.”
Suede scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Sounds like you mothafuckas already know everything.”
Mateo stopped pacing and reached for the file resting in front of Donovan.
He held up the photo of the whiteboard they’d found in the basement, marked with the mysterious code.
“Not everything. For instance, we don’t know who R.K.
is. His initials were on this whiteboard and in the contact list on your burner phone.
As a matter of fact, you’ve called and texted R.K.
more in the past four months than anyone else. ”
Suede suddenly sat up straight, refusing to meet Mateo’s gaze. He kept his eyes locked on the wall across the room, hands curling into fists on the table. “Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? I don’t got shit to say to you.”
“Not even if we could guarantee a reduced sentence? Maybe even the possibility of parole?”
Suede emitted a harsh chuckle. “Fuck that. I’m dead either way.”
Donovan inclined his head. “Yeah? Why is that? Is R.K. your boss or something? I mean, it’s clear you, Wilson, and Morrison are just the middlemen. The owner of Valemont … now there’s power.”
“Is that who he is, Tariq?” Mateo prodded, leaning closer over the table. “Is R.K. the owner of Valemont?”
Suede’s lips peeled back to reveal clenched teeth, and he glared at first Donovan, then Mateo. A set of gold caps glittered on his canines. “I’m done talking. I like all my limbs attached.”
“So that’s it,” Donovan mused. “R.K. won’t be too happy when he finds out what went down at the NOLA house and Berenger last night. He’ll want someone to blame. Someone who was sloppy enough to talk business in the open at Solstice.”
“I’m safer on the inside,” Suede replied.
Mateo offered him a humorless grin. “That’s what you think.
Allow me to let you in on a little secret.
I have one of the best intelligence specialists in the United States digging through the financials and real estate dealings of Valemont.
Now that we have the initials, it’s only a matter of time until we find out who R.K.
is. A man with that kind of influence? I don’t think he’d have a difficult time reaching you on the inside. ”
“I never said R.K. was the owner. You assumed that.”
“You didn’t have to say it. I know it’s him. Like I said, it’s only a matter of time until we can prove it. And you know what, Donovan?”
“What’s up, Bossman?”
“When we catch up with R.K., I think I’ll have a little chat with him about our friend Tariq here. Tell him exactly who was responsible for the NOLA house raid.”
Donovan stroked his chin. “While you’re at it, you might mention what we turned up at the warehouse. But, you know, maybe don’t bring Morrison and Wilson into it.”
Suede’s complexion had gone ashen, and his gaze darted back and forth between Mateo and Donovan. “I want a lawyer.”
He’d nearly whispered the words bringing the entire interrogation to a screeching halt, but Mateo had heard them. Pounding his fist on the table, he turned for the door.
“Suit yourself. Donovan, get him a phone.”
Mateo slammed the door and leaned against it, letting out a frustrated sigh.
The gnawing sensation in his stomach was nearly unbearable, exacerbated by his irritation.
He’d thought they were getting somewhere with Suede but had just hit a dead end.
They had more than enough to convict the pimp and his accomplices, but they needed more. They needed the owner of Valemont.
“Uh … someone! Come! Help! Please!”
Darcy’s raised voice drew Mateo toward her office door. It hung open and he found her inside, standing in front of her monitors. Her rolling chair had been pushed back and overturned, and her cat-eared headphones lay on the floor beside it. She jumped up and down, pointing at her screens.
“I did it! I found him! I fucking found him!”
Mateo wrinkled his brow, glancing from one monitor to the next to make sense of what he was seeing.
On one of them, a photo of a man with fair skin and Slavic features stared back at him.
Light blond hair was scraped back from his forehead and slicked, flaunting the square jaw, high cheekbones, cat-like blue eyes, and long, sharp nose.
His piercing eyes seemed to penetrate the screen, sending a chill down Mateo’s spine.
“Who?” he urged while putting Darcy’s chair upright. “Who did you find?”
Rolling her chair back into place, she clicked her mouse a few times.
“Prepare to bow down and name me the Queen of Everything. Meet Roman Korenic, owner of Valemont Holdings and Solstice nightclub, uber-rich trust fund kid, and all-around douchebag. This guy layered his assets better than a lasagna. Everything loops through trusts, LLCs, and offshore shells.”
“So how did you find him?”
“He slipped. Once. Left a digital fingerprint on a logistics invoice tied to Gulf Atlantic Freight. A burner email with the name korenic.r@ was used to register the document. Probably meant to delete it and didn’t.”
She clicked her mouse again, pulling up a dark web screenshot with a forum thread highlighted in yellow.
“Azrael’s Gate’ and dosage experiments are mentioned all throughout this forum. One of the uploaded BAZ-024 design files had metadata from a device labeled ‘Korenic-Win11.’”
“He named the device after himself?”
Darcy snorted and shook her head. “Criminal mastermind … bad at IT hygiene.”
“How long has he been active?”
“The RK crate tags match shipping routes going back three, maybe four years, all tied to Miami warehouses under other aliases. But the pattern repeats—same shipping loops, same shell corps, same name fragments.”
“Criminal history?”
“A few charges for aggravated assault and obstruction, but it looks like Korenic’s daddy has long money. He was able to sweep it all under the rug.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, Mateo allowed himself to smile. He rested a hand on Darcy’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Good fucking job, Queen of Everything. We got him.”
Darcy beamed up at him. “You bet your ass we do. Oh, and I’m still working on that little side project.
The number from Ms. Johnson’s burner phone is a match for one Tariq has been calling from his, but when I trace it I hit a dead end.
The number is also a burner with no registered information.
But, I’m chasing a few leads, and I think I might be on to something. ”