The target was a bank.
Not the kind of bank where ordinary people deposited their paychecks and worried about interest rates. This was a private institution, hidden behind a facade of limestone and marble in the heart of the financial district, its existence known only to those wealthy enough to require its services. The Prime had used it for years as a clearinghouse for their illicit transactions—money laundering, asset transfers, the quiet movement of funds that kept their network operational. It was the first target on Caleb's list, and it was supposed to be impregnable.
But no fortress was truly impregnable. Not if you knew where to apply pressure.
The team gathered in a parking garage three blocks away, their faces lit by the glow of portable screens and the faint light of the city
