Page 59 of Make Them Pay

Gage has the three vehicles in place. One plain sedan at the front entrance with the engine running. One at the rear service door with a couple of BRAVO people nearby. And a heavier SUV at the garage exit that Gage can swing across the ramp in a few seconds if she tries to leave that way.

I’m inside the bank. Diaz found me a suit that actually fits. I look like a regular client waiting for an appointment, sitting in one of the leather chairs in the lobby with a magazine I haven’t read a word of. From here I’ve got a clear view of both the front doors and the hallway to the private offices.

“Enley,” I say quietly into the radio. “Status on the delay?”

Her voice comes through clear and steady. “It’s active. When she authorizes the wire, the confirmation will hold for ten minutes before it goes through. She won’t see anything unusual on her end. It’ll just look like normal bank processing.”

“Copy.”

“I’m watching the approach cameras Arrow patched through. When she shows up, I’ll have her on screen before she reaches the door.”

“Good.”

“And Render.”

“Yeah.”

“Non-lethal,” Enley reminds me.

“That’s the plan.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean remember who you are. Not the version who cleared the warehouse or went through the facility in the dark. The version who went around Millhaven because civilian lives still mattered. That version. She’s a person walking into a bank. Not a target in a compound.”

Her words settle in. She’s right. I’ve been treating this like a straight tactical problem—intercept, contain, control. But Enley’s reminding me that the woman I’m about to face is still a human being, even after everything she’s done. And there’s still plenty of innocent civilians around. Don’t want things to get too messy.

I don’t feel sorry for Serafina. She kidnapped Enley. She took my crew. She had Poe beaten. She threatened the woman I love. But Enley’s asking me to stay the man who chooses the harder right thing, not the easier wrong one.

“I hear you,” I say.

“I know you do.”

We wait. The lobby stays quiet. Outside, the street keeps looking like a place where nothing important ever happens.

“Vehicle approaching,” Enley says. “Black sedan. Single occupant. Female. Dark hair. She’s turning into the parking garage.”

“Arrow. Garage cameras.”

“On it.” A short pause. “Confirmed. It’s her. Parking on level B1 near the private elevator. She’s alone.”

Serafina is thirty seconds from walking into a building surrounded by people who’ve been preparing for this for weeks. She doesn’t know it yet. She thinks she’s just handling a routine money transfer that will let her disappear. She thinks the exit is still open.

It’s been closed since Enley sent the evidence package.

“She’s in the elevator,” Arrow reports. “Coming up to the lobby.”

I set the magazine down and stand. Smooth the front of the suit jacket. The gun is under the jacket in a holster, but I don’t plan on using it. This isn’t the facility. This is a bank on a regular afternoon with civilians in the lobby and a security guard who thinks his biggest problem today is going to be a parking argument.

The elevator chimes. The doors open. And there she is. Serafina steps into the lobby.

She looks exactly like she did in the videos. Composed. Controlled. Dark coat over a white blouse, hair pulled back, the posture of someone who’s used to walking into rooms she owns. She carries a leather portfolio under one arm and her phone in the other hand, heading straight for the executive hallway.

She doesn’t see me at first. She’s focused on the door she needs.

I step into her path.

She stops. Recognition takes about half a second. Her eyes move from my face to the suit to the exits she can see, and the calculation behind her expression is fast and thorough.

“You’re the failsafe,” she says. Her voice is even. Controlled. The same voice from the hostage video. “Render James.”