Chapter Seven #3
I nodded. Then I moved to the whiteboard -- our investigation hub for the past three days. Names. Connections. Evidence. Suspects arranged in hierarchical order based on access and opportunity.
I uncapped a black marker, the chemical smell cutting through the stale air. “Let’s work it through. One more time.”
She straightened in her chair, professional mask sliding back into place. Composed. Analytical. The vulnerability gone so completely I might have imagined it.
“Only three people knew the real route,” she began, voice steadier now. “But someone else found out.”
“Not found out. Was told.” I crossed my arms, marker still in hand. “Which means either Atilla or I revealed it.”
“Or someone was listening.” She turned back to her computer, pulling up security logs. “I swept the room after the meeting yesterday. No active bugs. No surveillance devices.”
“Could have been old-school. Ear to the door.”
She shook her head. “I placed sound dampeners myself. Tested them afterward.”
I tapped the marker against my palm, thinking. “Digital intercept? Communications hack?”
“Possible, but unlikely. The new route was only transmitted over the comms this morning, when the operation was already in motion.”
We were missing something. Some angle we hadn’t considered. I turned to the board, staring at our list of suspects. Four names remained after days of investigation:
GENERAL -- Sergeant-at-Arms. Access to all operations. Financial irregularities.
WILDCARD -- Road Captain. Present at all compromised meetings. Communication anomalies.
TINKER -- Intelligence Officer. System access. Unexplained absences.
GOPHER -- Prospect. Background connection to shell company. Positioned to overhear.
“Wildcard was on the transport team,” Lila noted. “Putting himself at risk if he was the leak.”
I drew a line through his name. “And he took point during the firefight. Saved Ravager’s ass when the shooter had him pinned.”
“Tinker was running communications from the clubhouse.”
“With Atilla watching his every move.” I struck through Tinker’s name as well. “He couldn’t have made a call without being noticed.”
“Leaving General and Gopher.” She rose from the chair, moving to stand beside me at the board. Close enough that I could smell the coffee on her breath. Could see the faint freckles across the bridge of her nose that only appeared under certain light.
“General was at the clubhouse too,” I said. “Supposed to be coordinating with the Prospects.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Supposed to be.”
The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity. I turned, locking eyes with her. “Where was Gopher stationed during the operation?”
She was already moving back to the computer, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Secondary communications room. Monitoring police bands.” Her voice tightened. “With General supervising.”
“Check the log-in records.”
A few keystrokes brought up the security system data. “General badged into the comm room at 0830. Badged out at 0847.”
“Before the transport even left.” The implications hung heavily between us. “And Gopher?”
More typing. “Logged in at 0830 with General. Never logged out.”
“Check the external door logs.”
Her eyes widened as she pulled up the data. “Service exit. Accessed at 0849 with General’s code.”
I uncapped the marker again, drawing a circle around Gopher’s name. Then, after a moment’s consideration, I circled General’s as well. Not striking it out. Not yet.
“Gopher left the compound right after General left the comm room,” I said, the pieces fitting together with horrible precision. “And the ambush team knew exactly where we’d be.”
“I think we can confirm they’re working together.” She stared at the circled names, the betrayal now confirmed with cold data. “Just like I suspected from the financial records. General has the authority, Gopher does the legwork.”
The scratch of marker on board filled the silence as I connected the two names with a thick black line.
Brothers in betrayal. I stepped back, studying what we’d uncovered.
Twenty years I’d known General. Fifteen as brothers in the same club.
Countless rides. Countless fights. Had his back more times than I could remember.
And all the while, he’d been setting us up. Playing us.
Lila watched my face, her expression softening for the first time since I’d entered the room. She saw what I couldn’t hide -- the personal weight of this betrayal. “What happens now?” she asked quietly.
I capped the marker with mechanical precision, placing it exactly where it belonged in the tray. Control the small things when the big things fall apart.
“Now we take this to Atilla.” My voice betrayed nothing of the rage building inside. “And then we handle it. Club style.”
Her gaze remained on me as I gathered the evidence printouts into a folder. She understood what “club style” meant. What happened to traitors in our world. What I would have to do to a man I’d called brother.
“Spade.” Just my name, but it carried a weight of understanding I hadn’t expected.
I paused, folder in hand, and finally met her eyes directly. No professional mask now. No VP face. Just a man confronting betrayal by family.
“I know,” she said softly.
She did know. Had faced her own betrayals. Had survived them. That shared understanding passed between us without needing more words -- a bridge across the careful distance we’d maintained despite that kiss we both pretended to forget.
I nodded once, acknowledging what she offered, then straightened my shoulders and moved toward the door. The club needed its VP now. Cold. Calculating. Decisive.
The man could come apart later, in private, when duty was done.