It felt too easy. Too convenient. Which meant he needed to be extremely careful.
Sarah Reeves appeared in his doorway. "I heard. You think it's legitimate?"
"My gut says yes. But we verify everything, assume nothing, and keep him isolated until we're certain he's not a plant."
"If he is legitimate, King and Vancouver will figure it out quickly. They'll know he was compromised, know he had a decision to make."
"Which means they'll be in crisis mode. Paranoid, dangerous, possibly violent." Noah stood and grabbed his jacket. "Get Garcia to monitor all HTBB financial activity. If they're panicking, they might make mistakes—unusual transactions, emergency communications, restructuring that's too hasty."
"On it."
Noah headed down to the secure intake area where Vega would be processed. This was the kind of break that could change everything—a cooperating insider with direct knowledge of Benjamin's murder, firsthand information about HTBB's operations, possibly even recorded evidence or documentation.
But it was also the kind of break that could blow up in their faces if Vega was a double agent, feeding them false information while HTBB adjusted their operations based on what the DEA thought they knew.
Trust, but verify. That would be his approach.
Eliot King was in his apartment when Vancouver called at 5:47 AM. He answered on the first ring, instantly alert.
"Vega's gone," Vancouver said without preamble. "I sent someone to check on him at oh-five-hundred. The apartment was empty—personal items gone, no signs of struggle. He ran."
King felt a cold weight settle in his chest. "Or he was taken."
"If the DEA grabbed him, they would have left signs—forced entry, evidence of tactical presence. This was deliberate departure. He packed up and left on his own."
"Which means he's cooperating."
"That's my assessment."
King walked to his window and looked out at the Manhattan skyline, now brightening with dawn. Marcus Vega had been in the vehicle when they transported Perez's body. He'd been present for operational discussions over the past three years. He knew locations, personnel, financial structures. Not everything—King maintained strict compartmentalization—but enough to do significant damage.
"What's his exposure level?" King asked.
"High. He can connect us to Perez's murder directly. He can identify me, confirm I was at the scene. He knows about at least a dozen operational locations and probably twice that many associates. He's worked on money movements, so he understands parts of our financial structure."
"But not all of it."
"Not all of it. He doesn't know about our highest-level clients, doesn't have access to our offshore accounts, doesn't know our full organizational structure. But what he does know is damaging."
King thought rapidly, calculating risks and responses. "We assume everything he knows is now known to the DEA. Every location he's visited, every person he's met, every operation he's participated in—all of it is compromised."
"Agreed. I'm already implementing emergency protocols. Anyone Vega had significant contact with is being relocated or reassigned. Any location he knew about is being cleared completely."
"What about people who might be identified through Vega's testimony? Associates who worked with him, drivers he coordinated with, financial operators he interacted with?"
Vancouver was silent for a moment. "We have thirty-seven people in that category. Some are minor—he might remember their faces but not their names or roles. Others are significant—people he worked closely with who could be arrested and pressured to cooperate."
"I want them all contacted within six hours. Give them a choice—relocate immediately with our support, or stay and face potential arrest. But make it clear that cooperation with law enforcement will have severe consequences."
"Understood. What about operations? Mallman's transaction is scheduled for three days from now. If Vega knows anything about it—"
"He doesn't. That operation was set up after Perez's death, using new protocols and personnel Vega never interacted with. We're insulated there."
"Unless Noah's people start following every thread Vega gives them. If they identify our financial operators, track our shell companies, they might stumble onto the Mallman operation even if Vega doesn't know about it directly."
King considered this. Vancouver was right—even indirect exposure could lead to discovery through determined investigation. But canceling the Mallman transaction would signal panic, would confirm to their clients that HTBB was compromised and vulnerable.
"The transaction proceeds as planned," King said firmly. "But we add additional security layers. Extra countersurveillance, alternate routes, backup protocols. If Noah's people are anywhere near it, we abort and scatter. But we don't cancel preemptively."
"That's aggressive."
"We're already at war. Playing defense only delays the inevitable. We need to demonstrate to our clients and our people that we're still operational, still capable."
Vancouver sighed, a rare display of emotion. "Eliot, we've lost an insider to federal cooperation. That's catastrophic. Maybe it's time to consider a strategic retreat—shut down for six months, let this investigation run its course, rebuild when the pressure eases."
"And lose everything we've built? Our client relationships, our market position, our organizational structure—all of it would dissolve. By the time we tried to rebuild, competitors would have taken our territory and our clients would have moved on." King's voice was ice. "No. We fight. We adapt faster than Noah can pursue, we exploit every legal weakness in his investigation, and we make sure that anyone who betrays us understands the consequences."
"Speaking of consequences..." Vancouver paused. "Vega has a family. Wife and two daughters in Queens. We discussed them when I met with him. He knows we know where they are."
King understood the implication. "Are you asking for authorization?"
"I'm asking whether we're willing to go that far. Threatening or harming a cooperating witness's family is a federal crime that brings additional charges and additional heat. It could turn other potential cooperators against us—if they think we'll hurt their families, they might cooperate immediately just to get protective custody."
"But if we don't respond, if we let Vega betray us without consequences, it signals that cooperation is safe. That there's no cost to turning on the organization."
It was a calculation King had faced before, though never quite this explicitly. Violence against witnesses and cooperators was a tool that had to be used sparingly—too much and you created more problems than you solved, too little and you looked weak.
"Not the family," King decided. "Not yet. But make sure Vega knows we're watching them. A message, something subtle but clear. He needs to understand that his testimony comes with ongoing risk."
"I'll handle it."
After Vancouver disconnected, King remained at the window, watching the city wake up. Somewhere out there, Marcus Vega was sitting in a DEA interview room, telling Noah Jogensen everything he knew about HTBB's operations, about Benjamin Perez's murder, about the organization's vulnerabilities.
It was a setback. Significant, damaging, possibly catastrophic.
But King had survived worse. He'd built HTBB from nothing, navigated countless threats, outmaneuvered aggressive investigators before. Noah Jogensen was good, certainly—better than most. But he wasn't unbeatable.
The key was to move faster than Noah could process information, to stay three steps ahead, to make sure that by the time Noah acted on Vega's intelligence, the landscape had already changed.
King pulled out his phone and began making calls.
At 2:17 PM that same day, a panel van was traveling east on the Long Island Expressway, carrying three boxes of documents that HTBB needed to relocate from a compromised warehouse in Brooklyn to a new secure location in Nassau County.
The van contained four HTBB operatives: Tommy Liu driving, Danny Reese in the passenger seat, and two others—James Barker and a newer recruit named Kevin Santos—in the back with the cargo.
They'd been careful, taken a circuitous route, checked repeatedly for surveillance. Everything seemed clear.
Which is why they didn't see the DEA tactical team until it was too late.
Three black SUVs appeared simultaneously—one in front, one behind, one pulling alongside. Through the van's windows, Liu could see armed federal agents in tactical gear, weapons drawn, gestures clear.
Pull over. Now.
"Fuck," Reese breathed. "How did they—"
"Vega," Liu said bitterly, already knowing. "He gave them everything."
He considered running—the van was fast, and Liu was a skilled driver. But against three vehicles full of federal agents on a busy expressway with civilian traffic everywhere? It would be suicide, and probably take innocent people with them.
He pulled over.
"Hands where we can see them!" The amplified voice came from one of the SUVs. "Driver, turn off the engine! Everyone in the vehicle, hands visible!"
Liu complied, raising his hands. Beside him, Reese did the same. In the back, Barker and Santos had their hands up as well.
Tactical agents swarmed the van, weapons trained, movements precise and professional. The doors were yanked open, and within seconds all four HTBB operatives were being pulled out, forced to their knees, hands secured behind their backs with flex cuffs.
"Clear!" someone shouted from the back of the van. "Three boxes, appears to be documents!"
Noah Jogensen emerged from one of the SUVs, walking calmly toward the secured van. He looked at each of the four detained men, his expression neutral.
"Tommy Liu, Danny Reese, James Barker, Kevin Santos," he said, reading from a tablet. "You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit money laundering, obstruction of justice, and participation in a continuing criminal enterprise. Mr. Liu and Mr. Reese, you're also being charged in connection with the murder of Special Agent Benjamin Perez."
Liu's eyes widened. They knew. They knew everything.
"I want a lawyer," Liu said immediately.
"You'll get one," Noah replied. "Right after we process you and secure you in federal custody. But first, I need to thank you. Those boxes you were transporting? They're going to help us dismantle your entire organization."
He turned to Coe, who was coordinating the scene. "Get them separated, transported to different facilities. I want them isolated from each other and from any other HTBB associates we might bring in. No communication, no coordination."
"What about the documents?" Coe asked.
"Secure them immediately, get them to our analysis team. I want a complete inventory within six hours." Noah looked back at the detained operatives. "One of you is going to be smart. One of you is going to realize that the first person to cooperate gets the best deal. I'd think about that carefully during your ride to booking."
As the four men were loaded into separate vehicles, Liu caught Reese's eye. The message was clear: Say nothing. Give them nothing.
But Liu could see the fear in Reese's expression, the same fear he felt himself. Vega had already broken. The organization was compromised. And now four more operatives were in federal custody, facing decades in prison, with only one way out—cooperation.
The first domino had fallen. The question was how many more would follow.