Page 47 of Nate

“They didn’t trust technology, yet they let all of this paperwork be accessible,” said Nate. “That certainly isn’t smart. What did you find?”

“Wolford, Garvin, Quinn, Judge, all of them were connected. They were a ‘social’ club known as Angel Investments.”

“Angel? What the fuck?” muttered Mike.

“In their circle, they had it all. Investors, lawyers, stock brokers, bankers, everything. They enjoyed playing the markets and investing but also didn’t mind losing. If they lost too much, it was a simple call to one of the heads of the organization, and they could fix it. Easily.

“All of this started with Judge and Morrison. Apparently, the story of Victoria was true. Her father owed Judge’s father a considerable amount of money and couldn’t pay. They’d been watching the girl for months, wanting to take her, but didn’t dare.

“According to the notes, Judge and Morrison convinced their fathers to allow them to grab Victoria and break her in. Needless to say, it got out of hand, and they killed her. The note actually reads, ‘Father wasn’t happy about not getting his chance with Victoria, but he seemed pleased at my enthusiasm for the family business.’

“There are at least a dozen notations of individuals nearing bankruptcy or about to lose their mansions. If the family didn’t have a daughter or son of an appropriate age, they were allowed to find someone.”

“Find someone? You mean they kidnapped young men and women?” asked Nate.

“It appears so. There are notes about driving into Manhattan, Philadelphia, other big cities in the area and looking for runaways or homeless kids. They’d clean them up, given them new clothes, promising an opportunity to meet men and women that could help them. Those kids had no idea what they were walking into.”

“But, what about the banks? Wouldn’t they be suspect if they were about to foreclose, and suddenly, they had their money?” asked Mike.

“You would think so, but apparently, these people provided so much business to the banks they weren’t about to question it. Here’s the other interesting thing. Not one of them that we’ve checked so far has filed an income tax return in twenty years. Not one. What I can’t find yet is where they’ve kept the cache of money. Jean is helping me with that right now, as well as a few others.”

“It’s good work, guys,” said Nate. “Do we have other names? Do we see anything, initials that could lead us to someone?”

“If you mean lead you to the POTUS, no. Nothing. They actually mention some people by name. We’ve got current and former senators, governors, congressmen, business owners. We’ve even got the former owner of a professional baseball team and a co-owner of a professional football team.” There was low conversation in the background, and then Tanner spoke.

“I have probably fifteen to twenty singers, actors, directors, and artists,” said Tanner. “I see at least five police chiefs, current and past, and multiple names of detectives. There are four people identified so far that currently work for the treasury or the IRS directly. That explains the lack of payments to the IRS.”

“Jesus, just how deep does the shit go?” said Mike.

“That’s what I’m worried about. I think we need to consider the real possibility of the POTUS being involved in this, which means when we meet him, we could be walking into a trap.”

The waitress set down the soup, grilled cheese, and a few slices of apple pie. She refilled the coffee cups and nodded at the tables of men.

“Anybody ever tell you boys that you all look alike?” she grinned.

“Yes, ma’am,” nodded Nate. “All the time.”

“Well, if I were your mother, I’d also tell you wearing white in a winter storm is a sure way to get hit by a car or made into a snowman. Take your pick, but you boys be careful out there.”

“Thank you,” smirked Mike. She walked away, and he shook his head. “I like her.” They all chuckled, nodding at the older woman, alone in the middle of a blizzard in a coffee shop. She had guts, that was for sure.

The food was hot and filling, immediately giving them all a sense of warmth and happiness. Just as they were about to request refills on the coffee, Mike nudged the table and pointed to the clock. 0510.

“Wake up, boys,” said Tanner. “We just caught Judge on a camera heading towards the White House.”

“That fucking bastard,” growled Nate. “He’s setting us up.”

“Then we get there and end this,” said Mike.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The president slid from his bed and into his private bath and dressing room. He wouldn’t put his suit on, not for this meeting. These men weren’t suit-wearing men. As he dressed, he stared out the three-inch thick, bullet-proof glass at the blizzard. His entire day was going to be fucked up because of the weather.

Although only in office for two years, he’d been in government long enough to know a lot about the contributions and chaos often created by the team formerly known as REAPER. They’d gone by a few different names, but none of that really mattered.

G.R.I.P. was the most advanced weapons, tactical equipment, and technology company in the world. Everyone wanted a piece of her, yet she seemed so flush with cash there was no getting to her.

All deals were made via video conference meetings, occasionally a live meeting with one of the two heads, Doug Graham and Montana Robicheaux. Robicheaux. That was a name that struck fear in every person in government. In fact, there were several family names associated with G.R.I.P. that made the average man or woman squirm. And if you didn’t squirm, it was because you were doing everything by the book and knew you were safe.

---