Eliot King watched the press conference on the wall-mounted television in his Midtown office, his expression perfectly neutral even as Noah Jogensen publicly declared war on HTBB. Behind him, his attorney—Mitchell Carver, one of Manhattan's most expensive criminal defense lawyers—took notes and occasionally muttered under his breath.
When the press conference ended, King muted the television and turned to face the window. "Your assessment?"
Carver set down his tablet. "Noah just made this investigation radioactive. Every news network is running with it, Congress is already calling for hearings, the Inspector General's office will be investigating the Marshals Service. The public pressure is going to be enormous."
"Which affects us how?"
"It makes it harder for us to operate normally. Any business associate, any client, anyone who interacts with King Financial is now subject to potential scrutiny. The media will be digging into your background, your business relationships, your financial history. If there are any vulnerabilities—"
"There aren't." King's voice was flat and certain. "Every aspect of King Financial is legally sound, properly documented, and can withstand audit. My personal finances are clean, my business relationships are legitimate, and there's no direct evidence connecting me to any criminal activity."
"What about indirect evidence? Associates, employees, patterns of behavior that might suggest you're running a criminal enterprise?"
"All circumstantial. Noah can suspect all he wants, but suspicion isn't proof. And without Marcus Vega's testimony—" King allowed himself a thin smile, "—his case against me personally is significantly weaker."
Carver looked uncomfortable. "Eliot, we need to talk about Vega's murder. The press is calling it an assassination of a federal witness. If there's any evidence connecting you or your organization—"
"There isn't. I was in my apartment when it happened, alone. No witnesses, but also no evidence of involvement. Vancouver handled it personally, and he's too professional to leave traces."
"You just admitted to me that Vancouver Sell, your second-in-command, murdered a federal witness on your orders."
King turned from the window, his gaze cold. "I admitted nothing. I made a statement of fact about where I was last night. Anything you inferred beyond that is your assumption, not my admission. And attorney-client privilege means this conversation is protected."
Carver sighed. "I'm trying to help you. But I can't do that if you're not straight with me about exposure."
"My exposure is minimal. Noah has arrested some mid-level operatives, seized some documents, turned one witness who's now dead. That's damaging to operations but not fatal to the organization. As long as he can't connect me directly to criminal activity, he can investigate all he wants."
"And Sell? He's the one who actually did the operational work. If Noah can flip one of your people, get testimony about Sell's activities, that creates a pathway to you."
"Which is why no one else will flip. Vega's death sent a clear message about the consequences of cooperation. The four men arrested on the LIE? The ones currently sitting in federal detention considering whether to take deals? They're going to think very carefully about what happened to Vega before they decide to cooperate."
Carver stood and gathered his materials. "I'll prepare defensive motions, challenge the validity of their warrants, file complaints about prosecutorial overreach. But Eliot, you need to understand—Noah is playing for keeps now. This isn't a normal investigation. He's treating this as a personal mission, and that makes him dangerous and unpredictable."
After Carver left, King stood alone in his office, processing the situation. The press conference had been a bold move by Noah—designed to generate pressure, make it harder for HTBB to operate, potentially flush out more cooperating witnesses or force mistakes.
But it had also created opportunities. Noah was operating in the public eye now, which meant every move he made would be scrutinized, every tactic questioned, every legal procedure examined for flaws. Defense attorneys could use the media attention to claim their clients couldn't get fair trials, that the prosecution was driven by publicity rather than evidence.
King's phone buzzed—a text from an encrypted number: Need to meet. Urgent.
It was from JK Mallman, their primary client. King had been expecting this.
He texted back: Usual place. Two hours.
The "usual place" was a private dining room in an exclusive Manhattan restaurant, the kind of establishment that catered to the wealthy and powerful with absolute discretion. JK Mallman was already there when King arrived—a thick-set man in his late fifties, wearing a suit that cost more than most people's monthly salary.
"Eliot." Mallman's greeting was curt, his expression hostile. "I just watched your organization get torn apart on national television."
King sat across from him, projecting calm confidence. "The situation is manageable."
"Manageable?" Mallman's voice rose slightly. "A federal witness was murdered. Your organization is under investigation by the DEA, FBI, and apparently half of law enforcement. My transaction—eight million dollars—is scheduled to move in two days, and you're telling me this is manageable?"
"The transaction will proceed as planned. We've implemented new protocols, new routes, completely separate from anything that's been compromised. Your money will be processed safely."
"And if it's not? If the DEA seizes it? If I'm identified as a client of an organization that murders federal witnesses?"
"You won't be. The transaction is structured through multiple layers of legitimate businesses and offshore accounts. Even if it's somehow intercepted—which it won't be—there's no direct connection to you."
Mallman leaned back, studying King carefully. "I've worked with you for five years. In that time, you've processed over two hundred million dollars for me, and there's never been a problem. But this..." He gestured vaguely. "This is different. This is federal agents dying, witnesses being killed, massive public attention. That's not the kind of discretion I pay for."
"The discretion you pay for is still intact. Yes, we're under increased scrutiny. But that scrutiny is focused on mid-level operations, on personnel who've been arrested, on historical activities. The new systems we've implemented—including the one handling your current transaction—are completely unknown to law enforcement."
"You're certain?"
"As certain as I can be about anything. But JK, you need to understand something. If you walk away now, if you take your business elsewhere, you'll be dealing with organizations that are less experienced, less sophisticated, and frankly less reliable than us. The competitors who'd love to take over your account? They don't have our track record, our resources, or our commitment to client security."
Mallman was silent for a long moment. "I need guarantees. If this transaction is compromised, if my money is seized or my identity is exposed, I need to know that there are consequences for HTBB."
"What kind of consequences?"
"Financial. If I lose eight million because your organization can't protect it, you reimburse me personally. Not through insurance, not through some complicated claim process—you personally cover the loss."
King considered this. It was a significant risk, but refusing would almost certainly mean losing Mallman as a client. And if they lost Mallman, other clients would follow, seeing his departure as a sign that HTBB was no longer viable.
"Agreed," King said. "If your transaction is compromised due to HTBB's failure, I will personally reimburse the full amount within thirty days."
"In writing."
"Of course."
They spent the next hour working through details—new transaction routes, modified security protocols, emergency contingencies if law enforcement appeared anywhere near the operation. By the time Mallman left, he seemed marginally satisfied, though King could see the doubt in his eyes.
HTBB's reputation, built over fifteen years, was being damaged by Noah's aggressive investigation and public campaign. Even if they survived legally, even if King and Vancouver avoided prosecution, the organization might not survive the loss of client confidence.
King returned to his office and found Vancouver waiting, having entered through a back entrance to avoid any surveillance on the building.
"How did it go with Mallman?" Vancouver asked.
"He's nervous but staying. I had to guarantee the transaction personally—if it's compromised, I reimburse him out of pocket."
"That's eight million dollars of personal exposure."
"I know. But losing Mallman would cost us far more than that in the long term." King sat behind his desk. "Where are we with operational security?"
"Full compartmentalization is in effect. Everyone who had contact with Vega or the four arrested operatives has been relocated or reassigned. All locations they knew about have been cleared. Financial routes have been completely restructured. As far as Noah's investigation is concerned, we're a different organization now than what Vega described."
"And the four in detention?"
"Their lawyers are making cooperation noises, especially Reese. He's looking at life without parole for Perez's murder, and he's scared. His attorney is reaching out to the US Attorney's office about a possible deal."
King's jaw tightened. "Can we reach him?"
"In federal detention? Not easily. They've got him in high-security, isolated from general population. After Vega, they're being extremely careful with anyone who might cooperate."
"Then we need to make sure his potential cooperation isn't worth anything. If he testifies about old operations, old locations, old protocols—all of that is obsolete. The question is whether he knows anything about current operations or can connect me directly to criminal activity."
"He worked with me directly on several occasions. He could testify about my role, about orders I gave, about operations I coordinated. But he never interacted with you directly—all his instructions came through me or other intermediaries."
"Good. Let him cooperate if he wants. His testimony damages you, not me."
Vancouver looked at King sharply. "You're prepared to sacrifice me?"
"I'm prepared to insulate myself from prosecution. That's not the same thing." King's voice was cold and logical. "If Noah can only prove that you committed crimes, not that I ordered them or even knew about them, then you face charges while I remain free to continue running the organization. That's unfortunate for you, but necessary for organizational survival."
"And what happens to me in that scenario?"
"The organization takes care of your legal defense, provides resources for your family, ensures you're treated well. But you don't cooperate, you don't implicate me, and you accept whatever sentence the court imposes."
Vancouver had known this day might come—the moment when King's self-preservation instincts would override loyalty. In their world, the leadership always insulated themselves, always ensured that if someone had to fall, it was the operational people rather than the strategic minds.
"I've spent twelve years building this organization with you," Vancouver said quietly. "I've taken risks, done difficult things, eliminated threats. And now you're telling me that if it comes down to it, you'll let me take the fall alone?"
"I'm telling you that we both need to be realistic about how this ends. Chen is good, motivated, and has resources. He might build a case that we can't beat. If that happens, if prosecution becomes inevitable, we need to ensure that the organization survives even if individuals don't."
"The organization is nothing without operations. And I'm the one who runs operations."
"Which is why we'll do everything possible to keep you free and clear. But I need to know that you understand the hierarchy of priorities. The organization comes first, leadership comes second, and operational personnel come third."
Vancouver stood, his expression unreadable. "I understand perfectly. Is there anything else?"
"Just this: the Mallman transaction proceeds in two days as planned. I need you personally overseeing it, ensuring nothing goes wrong. Eight million dollars, processed successfully while under federal investigation. That's the statement we need to make."
"I'll handle it."
After Vancouver left, King sat alone in his office, feeling the weight of the situation. He'd built HTBB from nothing, survived countless threats, outmaneuvered dozens of investigators. But Noah Jogensen was different—more dedicated, more aggressive, more willing to take risks than anyone King had faced before.
And the public nature of the investigation changed everything. King couldn't just weather the storm and wait for attention to move elsewhere. The media coverage, the congressional interest, the death of Marcus Vega—all of it meant this would continue escalating until there was some kind of resolution.
Either Noah would be destroyed—his investigation discredited, his tactics questioned, his career damaged by overreach—or HTBB would be destroyed, its operations dismantled, its leadership imprisoned.
King had always been a patient man, willing to play long games and accept short-term losses for long-term gains. But this situation was accelerating beyond anyone's control, forcing decisions faster than optimal strategy would suggest.
He pulled up a secure file on his computer—contingency plans he'd developed years ago, scenarios he'd hoped never to implement. Exit strategies, offshore accounts under false identities, arrangements with foreign governments that didn't have extradition treaties with the United States.
If everything fell apart, if prosecution became inevitable, King had ways to disappear. Uncomfortable ways, requiring him to abandon everything he'd built and start over with nothing but money and new identity. But possible.
He wasn't there yet. There was still a path to survival, still ways to outmaneuver Chen and preserve HTBB. But for the first time in fifteen years, King allowed himself to consider the possibility of complete failure.
And he began preparing for it.