The vault was burning.
Stacks of Syndicate cash curled to ash, and the heat of the flames thickened the air with smoke. The Syndicate was bleeding but it wasn’t yet dead.
Colonel Bryce Carter was standing at the door, gun trained, eyes on James. His expression was not angry or panicked it was cold. Calculated.
“You never learn, James.” Carter’s voice was stable, but there was an edge in it. “If you imagine that throwing a few billion dollars into the flames will somehow be adequate to stop the Syndicate? This is bigger than you. Bigger than all of us.”
James did not put down his weapon. “Maybe. But you won’t be there to witness it.”
Gunfire erupted.
Sarah ducked behind a steel cabinet and she fired back. The acrid smell of gunpowder mingled with the smoke as Syndicate goons poured in
