Page 142 of Dating Goals
Siobhan glances up from her tablet. “Security disabled. Cameras looping empty footage. And I’ve frozen the backup generators. He’s digitally blind.”
I glance at my friends…my family really…all wearing Titans colors like we’re about to hit the ice together. A wave of gratitude washes over me.
“Five…four…”
Uncle Whitey spits and adjusts his cap.
“Three…two…”
Sawyer and Owen exchange a fist bump.
“One…Go time.”
Showalter signals his agents, who move efficiency toward the mansion’s various entrances. We follow behind like a bizarre parade.
As we approach the front door, Showalter holds up a hand. “We go in first, secure the scene, then you follow. Clear?”
Uncle Whitey chuckles. “Sure, lad. Whatever you say.”
The FIS team breaches the door with a battering ram.
“FEDERAL INTELLIGENCE SERVICE! NOBODY MOVE!”
The FIS agents sweep through Malcolm’s mansion, room by room. Their tactical lights create eerie shadows as they call “Clear!” through their comms.
“Clear to proceed.” Showalter signals the all-clear for us to enter as they move to the back and side exits.
We enter the mansion like a bizarre sports-themed SWAT team. The place is a monument to excess. Vaulted ceilings, marble floors, custom woodwork everywhere. It’s the kind of wealth that only comes from stealing other people’s money.
“Split up,” I direct. “We need to find Chase before he destroys anything important.”
Our group fans out through the mansion’s first floor. I hear doors banging open, closets being checked. Otto provides arunning commentary of “Where’s daddy? Where’s daddy?” as Sawyer and Maggie search the kitchen.
Uncle Whitey whistles low, running his finger along a gold-trimmed sideboard.
“Place like this, the silverware alone would fetch six figures,” he muses, eyes twinkling.
Sawyer coughs loudly. “We’re here to witness justice, Uncle Whitey. Not steal the spoons.”
“Speakin’ academically, boyo. Just keepin’ me skills sharp.”
Mikael stalks through the living room, examining framed photos of Chase with various celebrities and dignitaries. “Look at this,” he growls, picking up a photo of Chase with the commissioner. “Smiling while he robbed us blind.”
Hannah rubs his arm. “At least now everyone will know the truth.”
Hendrix paces anxiously, still patting his pocket. “Can we hurry this up? I’ve got things to do.”
“Like propose?” I whisper.
He shushes me. “Dude! Not so loud!”
“Your secret’s safe,” I assure him. “But everyone knows. You’re about as subtle as a freight train.”
Colette appears beside us. “What are we whispering about?”
“Nothing!” Hendrix squeaks.
Owen and Emily return from the east wing. “Eight bedrooms, six bathrooms, and a home theater that seats twenty,” Emily reports. “No sign of Chase.”
