The Geneva skyline gleamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a testament to wealth and power that had been built on the suffering of millions.
Wayne stood in the shadows of the building across the street, his binoculars trained on the private bank that served as Heinrich Müller's fortress. The man was a ghost, a phantom who had been pulling the strings from the shadows for decades. And now, Wayne was finally close enough to reach out and touch him.
"Jude, what's the intel?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The analyst's voice crackled through the comms. "Müller is in the building. He's been there for the past three hours, meeting with a group of unknown individuals. We believe they're his financial backers."
"Can you identify them?"
"Not yet. But we're working on it."
