Page 24 of The Foreman
Jesse nodded. "Haines has been diverting defense contracts to Meridian for years. Nexus was the middleman."
Thompson pulled up another feed. “And the alias Macy flagged earlier—a man we believe to be Dorian Kells—keeps showing up in Meridian’s hidden transfers. He’s not on the official rolls, but he’s moving money on a scale that makes Haines look like cover.” The name landed heavy in the room. Trace felt the shift: the target wasn’t just politics, it was power with teeth.
Macy stepped forward, her voice sharp and steady. "And now I’m the fall girl." She tossed a glance toward the screen, then back to Jesse. "Let me guess—cleaned out my accounts, revoked my clearances, and left me with a reputation in flames? Real subtle."
Jesse winced, then nodded. "You’ve got friends here, Macy. And we don’t burn our friends or our protectees."
"Good," Macy replied, lifting her chin. "Because I’m not going quietly. Let’s peel this thing back and see who else we can take down while we’re at it."
Jesse looked at her and then at Trace. He nodded as Jesse continued. "They pinned the breach on you. Your name is on the false transfer log."
Macy didn’t flinch. She crossed her arms and grinned. "Then we take the log apart. Piece by piece. And if they buried it deep, we bury them deeper."
Trace looked at the team. "Gear up. We go hunting."
He turned to Macy, his voice lowering just enough to draw her in. "You ready for this?"
"Do I get to wear something badass and shoot things?"
"No. You get to stay here and be safe. You're not an operative, Macy. Besides, I don't want to hear you complain that the tactical gear ruins your outfit."
"Please. I know I can make tactical look hot."
Trace shook his head.
"We might need her," said Jesse. "We can make sure she stays safe."
Trace looked from Jesse to Macy and back again.
"Trust me, keeping them close is often the best way to handle it," added Reed as he entered the warehouse.
Trace shook his head in surrender and handedher a lightweight tactical vest from the gear rack. "Put this on. It’s Kevlar-lined. You’ll thank me later."
She slipped it on and fastened the clasps with an ease that caused him to cock an eyebrow at her.
“Range days require gear,” she said, snugging the shoulder strap. “Plates slow you down, but soft armor keeps you moving. I prefer mobility.”
That earned her an appreciative look. He checked the fit and adjusted one strap near her shoulder.
"Perfect," he muttered. "Stay close to me. You move when I move. You shoot only if you have a clean shot."
"Got it, boss. Try not to get shot."
"Not in the plan."
Trace turned to Jesse. "Get the perimeter sweep uploaded into my tactical head-up display, the digital interface flashingwith real-time motion tracking and heat signatures across the map. I want a clean exit path."
"Already done. Hawke is prepping overwatch. He’s two clicks out and pissed he missed the breach with Vanessa."
"Tell him if he pulls superhero duty and covers our six, I'll get him a case of that tequila he loves."
Trace loaded his sidearm, the sharp click of the magazine locking into place punctuating the moment. He handed Macy a compact Glock.
"You ever shoot one of these?"
She checked the chamber with quick, competent hands. She locked the slide back, checked the chamber, and eased it forward. Finger indexed on the frame, muzzle down, she gave him a short nod that said she understood the rules.
Jesse looked at her. “You seem to know what you’re doing.”
