At 6:47 AM, Noah Jogensen sat in the DEA command center, surrounded by screens showing multiple operations simultaneously. On his left, Garcia and her financial crimes team monitored the accounts where HTBB's eight million dollar transaction would begin moving in less than three hours. On his right, Webb coordinated with field teams positioned at banks and financial institutions across Manhattan.
And on the center screen, a photograph of Thomas Brennan—the corrupt marshal who'd sold out Marcus Vega and was now somewhere in the wind.
Noah's phone rang. He recognized the number—FBI Assistant Director Marcus Greene from the New York field office.
"Agent Jogensen, we need to talk. My office, eight AM."
It wasn't a request.
"I'm in the middle of a major operation—"
"I'm aware. That's what we need to talk about. Eight AM, Agent Jogensen. Don't be late."
The line went dead. Noah felt a familiar frustration—interagency politics, at the worst possible time. The FBI had jurisdiction over corruption of federal officials, which meant Brennan's case technically fell under their purview. Noah had been too focused on the immediate investigation to worry about bureaucratic boundaries, but apparently someone at the FBI had noticed.
"Problem?" Coe asked, reading Noah's expression.
"FBI wants a meeting. Probably about Brennan, possibly about the whole investigation. They're going to claim we're stepping on their jurisdiction."
"Can you postpone?"
"Not without making it worse. I'll go, deal with it quickly, and be back before the transaction starts moving." Noah stood and grabbed his jacket. "You have operational command until I return. If the money moves early, if anything happens with Brennan, call me immediately."
"Copy that."
Noah drove to the FBI's Manhattan field office, mentally preparing for the bureaucratic fight he was about to have. The FBI and DEA had a long history of cooperation, but also a long history of turf wars. When cases involved both drugs and corruption, both agencies wanted control.
He was escorted to AD Greene's office—a space that projected federal authority with its flags, commendations, and photographs of Greene with various politicians and law enforcement officials. Greene himself was in his early fifties, African American, with the bearing of someone who'd spent twenty-five years navigating both street-level investigations and political minefields.
"Agent Jogensen." Greene didn't offer to shake hands. "Sit down."
Noah sat, maintaining his neutral expression.
"Let's be direct," Greene began. "Your investigation into HTBB has expanded beyond drug trafficking and money laundering. You're now investigating the murder of a federal witness, corruption of a US Marshal, and obstruction of justice. All of which fall under FBI jurisdiction."
"With respect, sir, this started as a DEA investigation into Benjamin Perez's murder and HTBB's money laundering operations. The corruption angle emerged from that investigation, but it's still part of the same case."
"A case that's generated national media attention, congressional interest, and significant political pressure. The Director wants the FBI to take lead on the corruption aspects, particularly the hunt for Thomas Brennan."
Noah kept his voice level. "Splitting the investigation would be inefficient and potentially compromise operational security. My team has been working this for weeks, we have cooperating witnesses, we have ongoing operations—"
"One of those cooperating witnesses was murdered while under federal protection," Greene interrupted. "The other witness you were developing, Marcus Vega, is dead because someone leaked his location. That's a massive security failure, Agent Jogensen, and it suggests your investigation has serious vulnerabilities."
"Which is exactly why we need to maintain continuity and control. We're close to dismantling HTBB completely. Disrupting that now—"
"Would ensure proper oversight and coordination." Greene pulled out a file. "I've spoken with your Assistant Director Corso. We've agreed to a joint task force—FBI takes lead on the corruption investigation and the hunt for Brennan, DEA maintains lead on the money laundering and HTBB's operational structure. We share intelligence, coordinate operations, but maintain clear jurisdictional boundaries."
Noah felt cold anger settle in his chest. This was exactly what HTBB would want—confusion, divided leadership, agencies competing rather than cooperating. "A task force takes time to establish, time to coordinate. We have operations happening right now—"
"Which is why the task force is effective immediately. I've assigned Special Agent Lisa Merchant to be FBI's lead. She's waiting outside. You'll brief her on current operations, provide access to all case files and intelligence, and coordinate any actions that touch FBI jurisdiction."
"That's—"
"Non-negotiable. This comes from the Director's office, with the full support of your own leadership. You can fight it if you want, but you'll lose, and you'll damage your career in the process." Greene's expression softened slightly. "Noah, I understand your frustration. You've put everything into this case, lost an agent, lost a witness. But the reality is that this investigation has grown beyond any single agency's scope. We need to work together."
Noah recognized the politics at play. The FBI wanted credit for taking down a major criminal organization and solving high-profile murders. They wanted to be seen as leading the corruption investigation. And they had the political weight to force cooperation, whether Noah liked it or not.
"Fine," Noah said tersely. "But I want it clear that operational control of the HTBB takedown remains with DEA. We've been building this case for two years, and I'm not letting bureaucratic politics undermine that."
"Agreed. DEA leads on HTBB, FBI leads on Brennan and corruption. We coordinate on everything else." Greene pressed a button on his phone. "Send in Agent Merchant."
The woman who entered was in her late thirties, professionally dressed, with the sharp eyes of an experienced investigator. Lisa Merchant offered her hand. "Agent Jogensen. I've been following your investigation. Impressive work."
Noah shook her hand, reserving judgment. "We're in the middle of a major financial interdiction operation. Eight million dollars moving through multiple accounts, scheduled to begin in about two hours. I need to get back to coordinate that."
"I understand. Brief me on the way, and I'll observe. I'm not here to interfere with your operations—I'm here to coordinate on the aspects that touch FBI jurisdiction."
They drove back to DEA headquarters with Noah providing a rapid briefing on the current state of the investigation—HTBB's structure, the evidence they'd gathered, the operations they had planned, the hunt for Brennan.
"What's your best lead on Brennan?" Merchant asked.
"Nothing solid. We tracked him to Newark Airport, but the trail went cold. He either flew out under a false identity, or the airport was a diversion."
"My team has been analyzing his financial records and communications. We think he's still in the US—New York area, possibly New Jersey or Connecticut. He has family in Hartford, and we're watching them."
"If you find him, I want to be there for the interrogation."
"Of course. Like AD Greene said, this is a joint operation." Merchant paused. "I know you're not happy about FBI involvement. But we can help. We have resources you don't have access to—behavioral analysis, forensic accounting specialists, international law enforcement connections. If we actually work together instead of competing, we'll be more effective."
Noah wanted to argue, but she had a point. His frustration was about losing control, about outsiders interfering with his investigation. But if Merchant was genuinely interested in cooperation rather than credit-stealing, the FBI's resources could be valuable.
They arrived at DEA headquarters at 8:37 AM. Noah immediately went to the command center, where his team was monitoring the approaching transaction.
"Status?" he demanded.
"Money hasn't moved yet," Garcia reported. "All accounts are being monitored. We have freeze orders ready to execute the moment the funds enter any account we have jurisdiction over."
"Vancouver knows we're watching," Reeves said from her station. "Our sources indicate HTBB is aware we've identified some of their planned accounts. They might be rerouting the transaction."
"Can they do that on such short notice?"
"If they're good enough and have enough backup plans in place, yes. But it increases their risk of mistakes."
Noah's phone buzzed—a text from an unknown number: We need to talk. Urgent. JKM.
JKM. JK Mallman, HTBB's primary client.
Noah showed the message to Coe. "Mallman wants to meet."
"That's... unexpected. Could be a trap."
"Or he's nervous about today's transaction and wants to make a deal." Noah forwarded the message to Merchant. "FBI might want to be involved in this—Mallman is a major target in his own right."
Merchant read the message and nodded. "Set up a meeting. I'll coordinate with our white-collar crime division. This could be a major break—if Mallman's willing to cooperate against HTBB, he can provide evidence King and Sell can't deny."
Noah texted back: When and where?
The response came immediately: Peninsula Hotel, Suite 2847. Ten AM. Come alone.
"He wants me alone," Noah said.
"Standard intimidation tactic," Merchant replied. "Go, but we'll have a team nearby for backup. If this is legitimate cooperation, we don't want to scare him off. If it's a trap, we don't want you going in without support."
At 9:15 AM, the financial operation began. Garcia's screens lit up with activity as money started moving through the international banking system.
"Transaction initiated," Garcia announced. "First transfer is moving from a Cayman Islands account to a New York-based shell corporation. Two million dollars."
"Can we intercept it?" Noah asked.
"Not at this stage—both accounts are outside our immediate jurisdiction. But if the money moves to the next account on the route we identified, we can freeze it there."
On another screen, surveillance teams reported movement at one of HTBB's suspected operational locations—a financial services office in Midtown that had been under observation for days.
"Three individuals entering the building," Webb reported. "Facial recognition identifies one as a known HTBB associate, financial operator named David Tseng. The other two are unknowns."
"Stay on them. If they're connected to today's transaction, I want documentation."
At 9:47 AM, Noah left for his meeting with Mallman, with Merchant and an FBI tactical team following at a distance. The Peninsula Hotel was one of Manhattan's most exclusive, the kind of place where privacy was assured and questions were never asked.
Suite 2847 was on the top floor. Noah knocked, his hand instinctively near his weapon.
JK Mallman opened the door personally—a calculated gesture of either confidence or desperation. He was alone, no bodyguards visible, though Noah assumed they were nearby.
"Agent Jogensen. Thank you for coming." Mallman's voice was controlled, but Noah could see tension in his eyes.
"Mr. Mallman. This is highly irregular. You're a target of our investigation."
"I'm aware. Which is why I wanted to speak with you before things escalate further." Mallman gestured to the suite's sitting area. "Please."
Noah sat, maintaining awareness of exits and potential threats. "What do you want?"
"To discuss a possible arrangement. I've been watching your investigation into HTBB. The press conferences, the arrests, the murder of your witness. It's clear you're not going to stop until the organization is destroyed."
"That's correct."
"The problem is, your investigation is also threatening my legitimate business interests. I have dealings with King Financial—completely legal dealings, I should emphasize—but the media attention and law enforcement scrutiny is damaging my reputation and my ability to conduct business."
"Then stop using HTBB to launder your illegal money."
Mallman's expression didn't change. "I don't know what you're referring to. My business empire is completely legal, properly documented, and can withstand any audit."
"We have evidence of systematic money laundering. Transactions that correlate with your business activities, flowing through HTBB's networks, ending up in offshore accounts under your control."
"Evidence that would be circumstantial at best and could be explained as legitimate business transactions." Mallman leaned forward. "But let's be hypothetical. If someone—not me, of course—was using HTBB's services for purposes that might be legally questionable, and that person wanted to distance themselves from HTBB, what would that person need to do?"
Noah understood immediately. Mallman was feeling the heat, recognizing that HTBB was going down and wanted to avoid being dragged down with them. This was an opening for cooperation.
"Hypothetically," Noah said carefully, "such a person would need to provide complete cooperation. Financial records, documentation of services provided, testimony about how the organization operated. In exchange, the government might consider reduced charges or even immunity, depending on the value of the information."
"And if this hypothetical person also provided information about other clients of HTBB? Other individuals using their services for money laundering?"
"That would be extremely valuable. Worth significant consideration in any potential agreement."
Mallman was silent for a long moment, calculating. "I need guarantees. Any cooperation would need to be completely confidential—if HTBB discovers I'm working with law enforcement, my life and my business are at risk."
"We can provide protection—"
"Your protection failed Marcus Vega. A man was murdered in federal custody because you couldn't secure a safe house. Forgive me if I'm skeptical about your ability to keep me safe."
The criticism stung because it was accurate. "We've identified the security breach and are taking steps to ensure it doesn't happen again. The corrupt marshal who leaked Vega's location is being hunted. But you're right to be cautious. Any cooperation agreement would need to include robust security measures."
"I need time to consider. And I need to know—today's transaction, the eight million dollars that's currently moving through the system. If I were to cooperate, would that transaction be allowed to complete, or would you intercept it?"
Noah realized what was happening. Mallman wanted to know if DEA was about to seize his money, wanted to gauge the government's strength before deciding whether to cooperate or fight.
"I can't discuss ongoing operations," Noah said. "But I can tell you that we're actively monitoring all HTBB financial activity, and any illegal transactions will be interdicted when possible."
Mallman's jaw tightened. "If you seize that eight million dollars, you'll force my hand. I won't cooperate—I'll lawyer up, fight every charge, and make your investigation as difficult as possible. But if you let it complete, if you demonstrate good faith... there might be room for negotiation."
"I don't make deals based on letting criminals successfully complete illegal transactions."
"Then you're going to have a very long and expensive fight ahead of you." Mallman stood. "I've said what I needed to say. The next move is yours, Agent Jogensen. But choose carefully—I can either be a valuable ally or a formidable enemy."
Noah left the suite, his mind racing. Mallman's cooperation would be huge—a major client willing to testify about HTBB's operations, possibly leading to other clients and bigger fish. But letting an eight million dollar money laundering transaction complete just to secure that cooperation was ethically and legally questionable.