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“Lillian, get me that report on the new contracts for our steel agreement now!”

Senator Marcus Whitefield slammed the phone down and leaned over his desk, staring at the television on the other wall. News of a workers’ strike at a major steel plant was playing on it.

“Fucking unions,” he spat to the empty room.

The first thing he planned to do, once he was in control, was abolish unions and the ability for workers to collectively bargain. It absolutely ruined productivity and profit. So much money was being left on the table, given to the whining masses, who always complained and wanted more. More, more, more.

Soon, however, that would be a complaint he would have to listen to no more. The upcoming election would seal the deal. He owned the leading candidate, and they would do whatever he said. When they did, Whitefield’s media empire would loudly proclaim the wonderful news and how it would benefit everyone.

Indeed, things truly were about to change for the better.

He glanced at the door. Where was his damn secretary and those agreements? He needed to get ahead of things—fast. The situation could still be saved, if only Lillian would do her damn job!

Finally, he got so angry he stood up from the desk and stormed toward the door, shouting his secretary’s name.

The heavy oak door was flung open before he could get halfway to it, and a horde of men in dark blue jackets emblazoned with the letters “FBI” came charging through, guns drawn. They shouted at him to stay still and to put his hands up.

Behind them, in the outer office, Whitefield could see Lillian at her desk, eyes wide with fright, another pair of agents with her. One of them had his hand on the intercom, preventing her from using it. With them was an older woman, her face hidden behind a pair of dark oversized sunglasses. But her lips were visible, and Whitefield saw red when she smiled at him.

“Senator Marcus Whitefield. You are under arrest for more charges than I can name, including treason.”

Whitefield tuned out the rest of it as the senior agent droned on. He would be out of jail before any of them knew it. There were enough senior judges he owned, or who owed him favors, that one of them would release him on bail in hours. At which point, he would begin to contact others, who would ensure the FBI never bothered him again. The agents in charge would be dismissed and the evidence burned.

“You can wipe that smug grin off your face,” the agent in charge said calmly. “I know you’re probably thinking this is nothing. That you’ll be out in no time. Probably one of your bought and paid for judges.”

There was no response from Whitefield.

“I thought so.” The agent snorted. “Which is why you’ll be glad to know you and all your traitorous buddies are all going to the same cozy place. There will be no one to free you. No one you’ve bribed to let you out. We have your entire organization. Right now, teams are rounding them all up. In short, it’s over, Whitefield. You’re done.”

Stunned, Whitefield swayed uneasily on his feet, all the color draining from his face. How? How could they have everyone? It was impossible. He’d been so careful. Covered all his steps. There was no way to trace him to it all. Was there?

He was still in shock as the agents hustled him from the room, yet more of them searching his files, his desk, and even his computer.

As he passed through the outer office, the older woman standing next to Lillian’s desk leaned in.

“This is for Aurora, you bastard. I don’t know what you did to her, but I hope you die before you make it to prison.”

Whitefield stared at her, positive he’d never come across the woman before. “Who are you?”

Private Investigator Janet Stern never replied, staying silent behind her sunglasses. ***

***

Thank you for reading Bound by His Fire .