I shoved him hard. "Mr. Hawthorne, the show is over. Can I leave now?"
He released me and leaned against the car door. "Leave? Where to? Stormvik?"
He pulled a black ID from his inner suit pocket and tossed it into my arms.
I looked down and saw a gold‑embossed emblem, with a line of text beneath it:
Special Operations Consultant, Joint Task Force on Overseas Drug Crimes
I stared at him. "Aren't you the dark web's king?"
Jules put the ID away. He said flatly, "I'm the one who catches the king."
I pressed, "For three years, you pretended to be blind, pretended to be crippled..."
He cut me off, "If I didn't, Remy wouldn't have taken the bait."
The rest, he didn't explain.
In the distance, searchlights from several speedboats swept across the water toward the villa.
Static‑laced r
