Page 40 of The Collector
The words struck Raven hard maybe he was just overthinking their bond, trying to force it. If he just stopped focusing on it things would eventually go back to normal.
"Was that all you needed then?" Stoker asked.
"That's it. Oh, wait, one more thing. How is Mynx's family coping with her absence?"
"The girl seems to be adjusting well to her caregiver role. I've arranged for her to continue schooling at home with a tutor. As for the mother…"He hesitated, the weight of the situation pressing against his usual detached tone. "She's close. Our doctors reviewed her files, reanalyzed the test results, and checked every possible avenue. There's one last experimental treatment—but I need your approval. It would add another half a million to her debt. I wasn't sure how you wanted to proceed."
The answer came almost immediately. No hesitation.
"Just do it. I'll cover it myself." His voice carried something unexpected—a softness buried beneath his usual authority. "I feel guilty taking Mynx away from her mother when there’s, so little time left. Makes me feel like a monster, I still remember what it was like losing mine. If I'd had the opportunity, I would've taken any chance to save her, any road left untraveled. I know Mynx would do the same."
"Going soft on us? Do you have a personal attachment to this girl? Anything I should know?"
"No personal attachment, just trying to be more human than monster this week." Just then, his cell phone rang, and he answered.
"Yes— what is it, Tony?" His voice was clipped, impatient. He listened, the seconds stretching longer than they should have.
"Boss, the FBI is at the front gate. They want to speak to you."
The words landed like a weight on his chest.
He exhaled slowly, calculation replacing shock. They were already here, which meant refusal was impossible. The only move left was to take control of the situation and run with it.
"Do they have a warrant?"
"No, they say they just have some questions for you."
"Fine, hold them for five minutes, then let them in," Raven instructed, his voice even and measured. "Notify security—lockdown procedures go into effect immediately."
He needed to act with no hesitation. No time for second-guessing.
He ended the call and turned to Stoker. "The FBI is about to enter the compound; notify security to begin lockdown procedures for all the performers. Non-essential staff are to make themselves invisible immediately."
"On it," Stoker replied, exiting his office with focused, rapid movements.
Raven took a breath, steady but tense. The timing couldn't have been worse. His father was set to arrive within days, a federal presence on their doorstep -especially now- was a complication he had no time for. This had to be handled quickly, cleanly, and with no mistakes.
He pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk, clearing it with practiced efficiency, files disappearing into hidden compartments, and notebooks locked into the steel safe beneath his workspace. Every sensitive document, every loose thread—vanishing in seconds.
The door swung open, and Shelby rushed in, a flurry of movement as she swiftly swept up the remaining papers, her hands moving faster than his own.
"What's going on?" she asked, not looking up as she stuffed documents into an encrypted hard case.
"Federal agents are at our gate," he said, eyes locking on hers.
The atmosphere in the room tightened like a vice around him as Shelby escorted the two agents into the room.
Raven watched them settle, his gaze sweeping over every detail, every movement. They weren't just here to ask questions but to dig for information and rattle him. The way their eyes scanned the room—quick, practiced, methodical—told him everything he needed to know. They were familiar with environments like this, familiar with sitting across from men like him. Neither looked uncomfortable, which meant they knew how this game was played.
But so did Raven.
Shelby, ever composed, effortlessly slipped into the polished role of assistant. "Can I offer you anything to eat or drink?" The question was simple, almost overly polite. Still, Raven knew it served a purpose: to set the tone and remind them they had walked into their world, not the other way around.
A glance passed between the agents—subtle, unspoken communication. Raven could tell they worked together long enough that words weren't necessary.
"Coffee. Black, please. Nothing for my partner," the male agent finally said, his tone clipped, with more formality than actual request.
Raven took them in. The man was controlled, direct, and authoritative. The woman had yet to speak, their dynamic was obvious. He was the hunter, and she was the hound. There to sniff out any details that couldn’t be gathered from direct questioning. She wasn't here to interrogate just to analyze.