Chapter 67 Marco
Marco
The clinic is the mistake.
Not because it’s cruel.
Because it’s traceable.
I’ve turned the bank’s back office into a war room.
Spreadsheets cover one wall.
Transaction trees cover another.
Shell companies and timeline maps stretch across a third.
Every thread leads back to the same pattern.
Northstar.
Silver Pine.
Greyfield.
And the quiet consultancy layer coordinating everything behind the scenes.
I dial the secure number.
The man answers after two rings.
“This better be good, Rossi.”
“It is,” I reply.
I walk him through it.
Pressure points.
Loan transfers.
Insurance triggers.
Financial coercion targeting essential infrastructure.
The silence on the other end grows longer with every minute.
Finally he says:
“Send me everything.”
I upload the files.
Every document.
Every timeline.
Every connection.
By morning, two agencies are quietly interested.
By afternoon, three.
The call comes back just before evening.
“This is… concerning,” the voice says carefully.
Government language.
Meaning: very bad.
“How concerning?” I ask.
A pause.
“If your documentation holds,” he says slowly,
“this is RICO-adjacent.”
I lean back in the chair and close my eyes.
Good.
Because that means this just stopped being a small-town siege.
And started being a federal crime.
“Then you might want to move fast,” I say.
“Why?”
I glance at the map of Eagle River spread across the desk.
“Because the people running this operation think no one is watching.”
And now?
They are.