Chapter 9 - Sirens in the Mist
Three unmarked black SUVs tore through the front gates of the property in a cloud of gravel and dust, their high-intensity strobe lights flashing blinding red and blue against the white siding of the house. Before the vehicles even came to a complete stop, doors flew open, and a dozen heavily armed federal agents in tactical gear poured out, securing the perimeter with military precision.
"FBI! Federal warrant! Nobody move!" a booming voice echoed across the courtyard through a megaphone.
From the front porch, Derek stumbled out through the screen door, holding a briefcase in one hand and a coffee mug in the other, his face instantly draining of all color. Behind him, old man Gallo froze in the doorway, his expensive suit looking suddenly ridiculous against the backdrop of federal tactical rifles leveling at his chest.
"What is this? You can't do this! I have legal representation!" Derek screamed, dropping his coffee mug as two agents rushed forward, slamming him against the side of the Mercedes and slapping steel cuffs onto his wrists.
Gallo didn't even fight. He raised his hands slowly, his face twisting into a mask of cold, calculated fury as he realized the trap had sprung too late.
From our position behind the pecan tree, Manuel and I watched the entire scene unfold like spectators at a theater.
"They got him," I breathed, a profound wave of relief washing over me as I watched my brother get pushed into the back of an SUV.
"They got the operation," Manuel corrected quietly, his eyes fixed on the front porch where Carmen—my mother—was slowly stepping out through the screen door, wrapped in her old wool cardigan, staring at the flashing lights with wide, tear-filled eyes.
I didn't wait another second. I bolted from the brush, running across the damp lawn straight toward the house.
"Mom!" I shouted.
Carmen turned, her hands flying to her mouth as she saw me sprinting toward her out of the shadows of the orchard. She didn't ask questions; she just threw her arms around my neck as I reached the porch, burying her face in my shoulder as her whole body shook with exhausted, joyful sobs.
"You came back," she whispered against my coat. "You really came back."
"I told you I would," I said, kissing the top of her head as federal agents began cordoning off the entire perimeter with yellow crime scene tape.
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Steping up beside us, a tall woman in a sharp charcoal suit flashed an FBI badge and introduced herself as Agent Miller. Her gaze shifted from my mother to my father, who was walking up the steps with the heavy bankruptcy binder still tucked under his arm.
"Mr. Vance?" Agent Miller asked, eyeing the file. "I believe you have something my director in Chicago has been waiting twenty-four months to see."
