At 8:47 PM, Noah arrived at the Queens warehouse where his team had coordinated the investigation. He'd contacted Coe, told everyone to meet there one final time to coordinate protection and next steps.
Lewis and Wyatt arrived first, both looking exhausted and paranoid. Garcia came next, then Coe. Everyone except Sarah Reeves, who'd disappeared after being exposed as HTBB's leak.
And Chris Bolt, who was dead.
"Status?" Noah asked.
"FBI is providing protection," Coe reported. "But it's limited. They can't guard all of us twenty-four-seven, and we're all facing investigation ourselves, which complicates their willingness to help."
"King and Vancouver?"
"In the wind. Multiple sightings reported, none confirmed. FBI thinks they're still in New York but preparing to flee."
"Then we have a narrow window. Once they leave the country, they're beyond reach." Noah pulled up news coverage on his laptop. "The evidence release is working—public pressure is enormous, Congress is calling for hearings, HTBB's business is collapsing. But if King and Vancouver escape, they can rebuild elsewhere. All of this—Benjamin's death, Vega's murder, our investigation—it all means less if the people responsible never face justice."
"What are you proposing?" Webb asked.
"We find them. Tonight. Before they can run."
"Noah, we're not federal agents anymore. We have no authority, no resources, no legal standing. If we find King or Vancouver, we can't arrest them."
"But we can tell the FBI where they are. We can coordinate, provide intelligence, help box them in until proper authorities can respond."
Garcia looked skeptical. "How are we supposed to find them when every law enforcement agency in the country can't?"
"Because we know HTBB better than anyone. We've spent months studying their operations, their patterns, their safe houses. King and Vancouver have to be somewhere, and that somewhere is probably a location we've already identified."
Noah pulled up the map they'd created during the investigation, showing every HTBB location, every safe house, every operational site they'd documented. "These are the obvious places FBI is already watching. But there are others—properties connected to shell corporations, apartments rented under false names, locations that were barely mentioned in Perez's intelligence. Places King might think are secure because they're not in the main documentation."
He highlighted three locations: an apartment in TriBeCa, a warehouse in Long Island City, and a marina in Staten Island with a boat registered to one of HTBB's many shell companies.
"If I were King, planning to flee, I'd stage from one of these locations. Close to transportation but not obvious. Secure but not heavily documented."
"And if we find them?" Wyatt asked. "What then?"
"We call FBI immediately. We don't approach, we don't engage, we just provide location and surveillance until proper authorities arrive."
Lewis's phone buzzed with a text. He read it, his expression darkening. "King just called me. Offered a deal—testify against you, discredit the evidence, and he'd make my legal problems disappear."
"Did you take it?"
"Of course not. But the fact that he's reaching out to team members, trying to flip people... he's desperate. Which makes him dangerous."
Noah's phone rang—Merchant.
"Noah, where are you?"
"Queens. With my team. We're coordinating protection and—"
"Get out of there. Right now. We just intercepted communications suggesting HTBB is planning to target your team members tonight. Specifically Lewis. Get him somewhere secure immediately."
Noah's blood ran cold. "How reliable is the intelligence?"
"Reliable enough. Move now, ask questions later."
Noah turned to Lewis. "We need to leave. FBI has intelligence that you're being targeted tonight."
Before anyone could move, the warehouse's rear entrance exploded inward with a deafening crash. Vancouver Sell stood in the doorway, weapon raised, his expression cold and focused.
"Nobody move," Vancouver said calmly. "I'm only here for Lewis. Everyone else can walk away."
Noah's hand instinctively went for his weapon, then remembered he'd surrendered it hours ago. He was unarmed, facing a professional killer who'd already murdered at least three people.
"Vancouver, this is over," Noah said, keeping his voice steady. "HTBB is finished. King is finished. Killing Lewis won't change that."
"It's not about changing anything. It's about consequences. You destroyed my life, Agent Jogensen. Destroyed fifteen years of work, forced me into exile, turned me into a fugitive. I'm just returning the favor."
Lewis stood slowly, hands visible. "You want me? Fine. But let everyone else leave first."
"Noble. But unnecessary. I have no interest in killing everyone here—that would bring too much heat. Just you, Lewis. Message to Noah. Message to anyone else who thinks about cooperating with investigations against people like me."
"You won't make it out of this building," Coe said. "The FBI knows you're here. They're probably surrounding the building right now."
"Then I'll die doing what I came to do." Vancouver's finger moved to the trigger. "Last chance, Lewis. You can make this easy, or I can kill everyone in this room."
Noah stepped forward, placing himself between Vancouver and Lewis. "You want to send a message? Then send it to me. I'm the one who destroyed HTBB. I'm the one who released the evidence. Lewis was just following my lead."
Vancouver's expression didn't change. "Step aside, Noah. Or I kill you both."
"No."
For a long moment, nobody moved. Vancouver's weapon was trained on Noah, his finger on the trigger, the suppressor making the gun seem impossibly long and threatening.
Then, from outside, a loudspeaker: "Vancouver Sell, this is the FBI. The building is surrounded. Put down your weapon and come out with your hands up."
Vancouver's jaw clenched. He'd run out of time.
He fired.