My Milf Conqueror System novel Chapter 90

Chapter 90: The First Key And The Fixer’s Immediate Response

Friday, 11:15 PM. Dupont Circle.

I sat in the back of the blacked-out SUV, the burner phone pressed to my ear. The line rang twice before it was picked up.

"Vance," a gruff, authoritative voice answered. It was the voice of a man used to giving orders that resulted in people dying.

"General Thomas Vance," I said, my voice smooth, projecting the passive Authority aura even over the cellular connection. "I apologize for interrupting your poker game. I know Harrison Croft hates it when people use their phones at the table."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. The background noise—the clinking of chips, the low murmur of conversation—suddenly vanished as the General likely stepped away from the table and into a quiet hallway.

"Who is this?" Vance demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous, military whisper. "This is a secure, unlisted number. How did you get it?"

"I’m a concerned citizen, General," I said, leaning back against the leather seat. "I’m concerned about the state of our national security. Specifically, I’m concerned about a shipment of fifty million dollars’ worth of Javelin anti-tank missiles and encrypted communication gear that recently went missing near the Syrian border."

Silence. Absolute, terrifying silence.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Vance finally said, but the absolute certainty was gone from his voice.

"Don’t insult my intelligence, General," I said, my tone hardening. "Your son, Captain David Vance, runs a private military contracting firm called Aegis Solutions. Two weeks ago, he signed for a black-budget weapons transfer authorized by your office. Three days later, the convoy was ’ambushed’ and the weapons vanished. But there was no ambush, was there? Your son sold the weapons to a local warlord to cover a massive gambling debt he racked up in Macau."

"Listen to me, you son of a bitch," Vance hissed, the panic finally bleeding through his stoic facade. "If you publish this, you’ll ruin my son’s life. He’ll be tried for treason. He’ll face a firing squad."

"And you’ll be court-martialed for authorizing the transfer and covering it up," I added helpfully. "Your legacy will be destroyed. Your four stars will be stripped. You’ll die in Leavenworth."

"What do you want?" Vance asked, the fight completely draining out of him. He was a tactician. He knew when he was outflanked. "Money? I can authorize a transfer—"

"I don’t want your money, General," I said. "I want your key."

"My key?"

"The biometric retinal key to Senator Margaret Hale’s asset forfeiture slush fund," I clarified. "I know you hold one of the three signatures required to access the two billion dollars."

"If I give you that key, Hale will destroy me," Vance whispered, genuine terror in his voice. "Harrison Croft will have me killed before the sun comes up. You don’t understand who you’re dealing with."

"I understand perfectly," I said, my voice cold and absolute. "You have a choice, General. You can face the wrath of Margaret Hale, or you can face a federal treason trial for you and your son. I have the shipping manifests, the offshore bank transfers, and the satellite imagery of the ’ambush’ site. I will send it all to the New York Times in exactly five minutes if you don’t comply."

I let the threat hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

"What do I have to do?" Vance asked, his voice hollow.

"Walk out the back door of the brownstone," I instructed. "Tell Croft you need to take a classified call from the Pentagon. Walk down the alley to the street. There is a black SUV parked half a block away. Get in."

"And then?"

"And then you give me the key, and I delete the files," I lied smoothly, the [Perfect Lie] skill ensuring my voice carried the absolute ring of truth.

"I’m coming out," Vance said. The line went dead.

I looked at Darius in the rearview mirror. "He’s coming out the back. Be ready."

Darius nodded, reaching under his seat and pulling out a suppressed, matte-black pistol. He didn’t point it, just rested it on his lap, his eyes locked on the dark alleyway.

Two minutes later, the heavy iron gate at the back of the brownstone creaked open. General Thomas Vance stepped out into the alley. He was wearing a civilian suit, but he carried himself like a soldier. He looked around nervously, his eyes scanning the shadows, before walking quickly toward our SUV.

Darius unlocked the doors. Vance pulled the rear door open and slid into the seat next to me.

He looked at me, his eyes wide with shock. "You’re just a kid."

"I’m the kid holding your life in my hands, General," I said, pulling a specialized, biometric retinal scanner from my bag—a piece of tech Nia had acquired on the dark web. I handed it to him. "Look into the lens. Hold your eye open until it beeps."

Vance hesitated, his hands shaking as he took the scanner. He looked back at the brownstone, then down at the device. He raised it to his eye.

A red laser swept across his pupil. The device beeped twice, a solid green light illuminating the small screen.

"Signature acquired and encrypted," Nia’s voice crackled in my earpiece. "We have the first key, Jake."

I took the scanner back from the General and slipped it into my bag.

"The files?" Vance asked, his voice desperate.

"Deleted," I said, tapping a few keys on my laptop for effect. "Your son is safe, General. Your legacy is intact. But I suggest you go back inside, tell Harrison Croft you’re feeling ill, and go home. When this all blows up, you don’t want to be in the blast radius."

Vance didn’t argue. He scrambled out of the SUV, his face pale, and practically ran down the street, eager to put as much distance between himself and the brownstone as possible.

"One down," Darius said, putting the car in drive. "Two to go."

"Let’s move," I said. "Croft is going to realize Vance is gone any minute now. We need to be gone before he checks the alley."

Darius pulled away from the curb, the SUV melting seamlessly into the D.C. traffic.

"Nia," I snapped, pulling open my laptop. "What’s happening?"

"I’m looking," Nia’s voice crackled in my ear, frantic typing echoing in the background. "Oh my god. Jake. It’s a coordinated federal strike."

"What kind of strike?"

"The DOJ just announced a massive, multi-agency raid on Vanguard Holdings headquarters in New York," Nia said, her voice trembling. "They’re citing credible evidence of international wire fraud, insider trading, and corporate espionage. They’ve frozen all of Vanguard’s domestic assets. Victoria Sterling has been taken into federal custody for questioning."

I stared at the screen as the news alerts began to flood in.

VANGUARD HOLDINGS RAIDED BY FBI.

CEO VICTORIA STERLING DETAINED.

BILLIONS IN ASSETS FROZEN PENDING INVESTIGATION.

"It’s not just Vanguard," Nia continued, her voice rising in panic. "The SEC just launched an emergency audit of Aldridge Enterprises. They’re claiming Sofia Aldridge colluded with Vanguard on the Aegis Mining deal. Her stock is plummeting. They’re tearing your empire apart, Jake."

I closed my eyes, the sheer, overwhelming scale of the retaliation hitting me like a physical blow.

Senator Margaret Hale hadn’t just swatted me away like a fly. She had unleashed the full, terrifying power of the United States government to crush my entire network simultaneously. She had used her influence over the DOJ and the SEC to bypass Evelyn Cross entirely, launching a decapitation strike against my generals.

Victoria was in custody. Sofia was under siege. My money was frozen.

"Jake," Darius said, his voice tight, looking in the rearview mirror. "We have another problem."

I opened my eyes and looked out the back window.

Two black, unmarked SUVs had pulled out of a side street and were accelerating rapidly, closing the distance between us. They weren’t using sirens or flashing lights. They were moving with the silent, lethal intent of a hit squad.

"Croft didn’t just call to gloat," Darius grunted, slamming his foot on the gas, the engine of our rented SUV roaring as it surged forward. "He called to keep you distracted while his kill team got into position."

"Evasive maneuvers," I ordered, gripping the door handle as Darius took a sharp, violent turn down a narrow side street, the tires squealing against the asphalt.

The shadow war in D.C. was over.

The shooting war had just begun.