Noah rubbed both hands over his face.
“I’m scheduled with Collins Thursday night.”
Miriam looked at him.
“Can you wear a wire?”
Noah hesitated only long enough to show he understood the danger.
Marcus did not like it.
That did not mean it was wrong.
The sting took place two nights later on a wet industrial road behind the old rail yards.
The bait was an undercover FBI agent named Victor Sloane driving a black Mercedes G-Wagon with Florida plates, expensive enough to draw attention and isolated enough to invite corruption. In the rear cargo compartment sat a duffel bag containing eighty thousand dollars in marked federal money.
Noah rode passenger in Collins’s cruiser.
A recording device was taped beneath his vest.
Marcus sat in an unmarked surveillance van with Miriam Fox three blocks away, watching through three camera feeds and listening to every word.
Collins spotted the Mercedes within six minutes.
“Look at this beauty,” he said. “Florida plates. Rich guy. Probably dirty.”
Noah kept his voice neutral.
“He’s holding the lane.”
Collins smiled.
“He won’t be in a second.”
The cruiser drifted closer.
Collins flicked on the lights.
The Mercedes pulled over.
The stop followed the script Noah had described.
No introduction.
No clear violation.
Immediate suspicion.
Driver out of the car.
Pat-down.
Search request phrased like an order.
When Agent Sloane hesitated, Collins leaned in close.
“You can make this easy or you can make this expensive.”
The duffel bag was discovered within minutes.
Collins went still when he saw the cash.
Then he smiled.
“Jackpot.”
He radioed Lieutenant Adrian Knox.
Knox arrived in an unmarked SUV ten minutes later, rain shining on his black jacket. He was tall, handsome in the way corrupt men often are when confidence has done more work than character, and he carried himself like every street belonged to him.
He opened the duffel.
Looked at the cash.
Then looked at Sloane.
“You got paperwork for this money?”
“It’s for a vehicle purchase.”
Knox laughed softly.
“Sure it is.”
He pulled a form from inside his jacket.
Civil asset forfeiture waiver.
Already printed.
Already waiting.
That detail mattered.
“You sign this,” Knox said, “you drive away tonight. No arrest. No booking. No court date. You don’t sign it, I take the money, the car, and you.”
Sloane looked afraid.
He was very good at looking afraid.
“Can you do that?”
Knox stepped closer.
“I can do whatever paperwork says I did.”
In the van, Miriam whispered, “There it is.”
Marcus said, “Take them.”
The road exploded in white light.