Page 58 of Code Name: Grit

My focus shifted immediately. “Where?”

“Multiple locations. They’re moving aggressively in the East Village, Brooklyn, and Chelsea. Plus, we’ve identified what appears to be a money laundering operation in Queens that’s suddenly very active.”

I checked the time again. “Let’s brief Admiral at zero seven hundred.”

“He’s already aware. Wants you and me on surveillance in Flushing, where dirty money flows in and out like water.” Tank pulled up images on his tablet. “Dragon discovered they’ve expanded operations to include high-end nightclubs previously run by the Castellanos.”

“What time do we roll out?”

“Blades whirl at zero eight hundred.”

I nodded, finishing my coffee. “I need to speak with Lumi first.”

“Bad idea,” Tank said, lowering his voice. “Give her space. Whatever happened between you two, pushing now won’t help.”

He was right, but the thought of leaving without clearing the air bothered me.

After showering and changing, I found myself outside Lumi’s door, hand raised to knock. Through the wood, I heard her voice—she was already on a call, likely with Dragon, based on the technical terms filtering through. The sound of her voice made me long to hear my name on her lips.

I lowered my hand and walked away.

The helicopter ride to the city was quieter than usual, both Tank and I lost in our thoughts. He didn’t press me for details about Lumi, and I was grateful for his restraint. We touched down on a helipad in Lower Manhattan, where an unmarked K19 SUV waited. The drive to Brooklyn took less than thirty minutes since the traffic was still light in the early morning.

Our surveillance position was on the second floor of an office building with a direct line of sight to an upscale club called Elevation. Its polished exterior and discreet entrance contradicted the suspicious transactions Dragon had tracked flowing through its accounts.

“Multiple shell companies,” Tank explained as we set up our equipment. “Money moves from the club to a property management firm, then a restaurant-supply business, then offshore. Classic laundering structure.”

I adjusted the camera lens, focusing on the service entrance where a delivery truck had just arrived. “Who manages their operations in this territory?”

“Marco Venutti oversees it personally. According to our intel, he meets with financial partners here every Tuesday morning before the club opens.”

“And today is Tuesday,” I said, checking the schedule. “What time?”

“Usually around eleven hundred.”

I checked my watch. “We have forty-five minutes.”

The wait passed slowly, Tank and I taking turns monitoring different entrances. At eleven hundred, the first black SUVpulled up to the club’s main entrance. Two men in dark suits emerged, scanning the street before opening the rear door. Marco Venutti stepped out, adjusting his tie as he nodded to the bouncer who let him inside.

“Right on schedule,” Tank muttered, snapping photos.

Over the next twenty minutes, four more vehicles arrived. I recognized a city councilman—not Rivera, this time—a zoning commissioner, and the owner of three legitimate businesses in the borough—all arriving separately, all greeted by the same stoic bouncer, who ushered them inside without a word.

When a government-issued sedan pulled up, my hands tightened around the camera. Ethan Keller emerged. Seeing him flagrantly meeting with Marco and his associates again made my stomach turn.

“Got him,” Tank said, capturing close-ups of Keller entering the club.

“We need audio,” I said, adjusting the laser microphone. “If we can document the exchange…”

Tank positioned the directional mic toward the floor-to-ceiling windows of the club’s VIP room. “Angle’s not great, but it might pick up something.”

For nearly an hour, we documented the meeting through telephoto lenses. The gathering appeared cordial, drinks served as papers changed hands. Although the microphone caught only fragments of conversation, it was enough to establish context.

“Permitting process expedited…”

“Inspections scheduled for…”

“Additional security measures in place…”

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