The FBI Billionaire

“Hmm.” Kristen relaxed as the bittersweet symphony of coffee hit her tastebuds and slid down her throat. She looked out the thick, blast- resistant window, her eyes tracing the Los Angeles skyline from the quiet of her navy blue office. The Los Angeles Field Office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation was housed in a twenty-four story building, and there she was on the twentieth floor, sitting motionless in her swivel chair. Her fingers were curled tightly around a ceramic mug that had long lost its heat. She took another sip of the lukewarm coffee, her mind wandering away to the rugged terrain of Riverside County. It wasn’t a case that pulled her there—at least, not one on her desk today; it was the memory of a robbery suspect who vanished into thin air three years ago, leaving no trace but a footprint in the brown dirt. Rat- tat- tat. A sharp, rhythmic rapping against the door pulled her back to reality, vibrating through the quiet of her office. Kristen jolted, her swivel chair groaning as she turned to face the entrance. She set the mug down with controlled precision and adjusted her dark blazer, her eyes darting to the clock on the wall, 7:15 AM. “Come in,” she said, her voice cutting through the air with a practiced, razor-edged sharpness. The heavy, brushed-steel door creaked open, revealing a tall, dark man in a crisp black blazer and navy slacks. Mike strolled in with a casual confidence that always seemed to grate on Kristen’s nerves. It wasn’t that she disliked him—in fact, he was one of the few people in the Bureau that she actually trusted; it’s just that he made the cases feel too easy. While she was fueled by cold coffee and the ghost of a three-year-old robbery case, Mike looked like he had just stepped off a plane from a vacation. “You’re early,” she noted, her sharp tone softening just a fraction. “And you’re already on a cup of lukewarm coffee,” Mike replied, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Onto something again, Kristen?” “Not really,” she cut in. Mike didn’t wait for an invitation to sit; he simply leaned against her desk, his shadow falling over her neatly organized files she had laid out that morning. “I’m starting to think you’re looking for a way out rather than a way in,” he chipped in with a hint of smirk on his face. Kristen gave him an intensified look in the eye that usually made suspects frightened. She didn’t smile. “You lie, Mike. And coming into my office to speak gibberish is a crime.” “Ahh sorry FBI,” He chuckled. Mike’s expression suddenly shifted, the playfulness dying down as he reached into his jacket’s pocket. He pulled out a small, encrypted tablet and slid it across the mahogany desk toward her. “Well, SAC Timothy just gave the green light on the Riverside lead,” Mike mentioned, his tone turning serious finally matching the room’s intensity. Kristen’s hands froze as she looked down at the tablet. “Riverside? Three years ago, we were looking at fraud accounts tied to the high-desert robberies” “That’s in the past now, Kristen. We’ve got something much more serious to attend to,” he said, pausing for a second as his face hardened. “Human trafficking,” Mike said, the words hanging heavy in the air like a thick fog. “Specifically, someone’s snatching kids off the streets and into Sunshine Manor.” That name sent a jolt through Kristen’s system. Since she was five, she had spent ten years of her childhood behind those very walls. She forced her expression to remain professional, but her pulse hammered against her wrists. “Orphanage trafficking?” she repeated, her voice almost cracking. “The oversight on those facilities is supposed to be airtight.” “Supposed to be,” Mike countered, his fingers pointing toward her direction. “They’ve been reports that a total of 16 kids went missing in the last week alone, and three more vanished before yesterday’s dusk.” “Do we have the snatchers?” she asked. Mike shook his head. “Our undercover operative has been in the perimeter for a week now, but he hasn’t seen the culprit’s face. He says the culprit disguises in a mask and a thick shoulder-to-ankle blazer.” Kristen etched her forehead. Pretending to not know the director, she asked, “Who’s the director of the orphanage?” “Elias Thorne,” Mike answered, thinking deeply about the trafficking situation. “I don’t think Thorne is aware of it. I’m guessing he’s away.” Kristen released some air, she didn’t know she was holding. Ten years ago, that wasn’t the director. “Then we’ll have to find out,” she said firmly. “Yes!,” Mike blurted out loudly. “Get your tools ready and…” “I’m going in, but not as an agent. Thorne won’t talk to a badge, but he’ll crawl for a checkbook,” she cut in. Mike admired her brilliance. “Brilliant, FBI. Just brilliant.” *** Days later, Kristen stood before the familiar, iron-wrought gates of the orphanage, disguised in a peach silk suit paired with black palazzo’s, and oversized designer sunglasses. She was no longer Special Agent Kristen; she was a wealthy philanthropist representing the European foundation. To her surprise, Elias Thorne was there—tall, dark, skinny, and thick bearded with a big mole below his lips. She toured the facilty, her heart breaking at the sight of children in vulnerable conditions. “The facility is… impressive, Director,” Kristen lied, offering a tight smile. “I’ll be transferring the first installment of funds once I get home and finalize the paperwork.” Thorne beamed, with desperation radiating off him. “Thank you Madam, it’s a pleasure.” Kristen headed back to the Los Angeles Field Office, just long enough to brief the team. “He’s there, and he’s desperate,” she told them. “Well done, Bell,” SAC Timothy praised. “I want you to find out who’s behind this… they won’t go unpunished!” “Yes sir!” she said, her voice steady. “I also deduced that this is a trifecta of crimes. They didn’t just kidnap those kids; they monetized them.” “How?” one of the shortest men in the room asked. “Since the a*******n of the kids leads to falsifying documents so as to make them legal orphans, they’re also attracting foreign donations from NGO’s,” she stated firmly. “Wow, they’ll have to face severe punishment,” Mike noted. “Six... years… of… imprisonment,” Timothy added, weighing each word. *** Back at Riverside, Kristen monitored the facility till dusk. She spotted the director—the snatcher—in a long blazer and hat. To protect her philanthropist cover, she stayed back while the team raided the building. Inside, Thorne was interrogated. He claimed his ten years of service until they played the a*******n footage. He was arrested on the spot and led into the waiting van. Thorne looked up, eyes widened in shock and confusion— seated in the passenger’s seat was Kristen, the philanthropist. Realizing the game was over, he broke, confessing that he only did it because he was drowning in debts.