Page 45 of Knife Thrower

Elias breaks the silence. He lifts his cane, tapping the brass ferrule against the metal floorboards.

“Then we add her to his tab,” the ringmaster states. He turns his pale, piercing gaze on me. “We do not simply put a bullet in a Prophet’s head, Sloane. Death is a release. We dismantle the life they built first. We strip away their respectability, their wealth, and their safety. We make them watch their kingdom burn.”

I lean back in my chair. “Walk me through it.”

“Psychological warfare,” Cole answers. He leans his elbows on the table, rolling a silver throwing knife over his knuckles. “Only this time, we don’t need to touch the house. We let his own crimes do the work.”

Silas smirks without humor. “We dump everything.”

Cole nods. “Money. Servers. Names. Records. Enough that the second it lands in the right hands, Raymond knows his life is over. We send the FBI after him.”

“And we make sure he knows they’re coming,” Elias adds.

I glance between them. “Before the raid?”

“Before,” Silas confirms. “He needs time to panic.”

Cole’s grin is sharp and joyless. “A man like Raymond doesn’t wait around to explain himself to the FBI. He sees the walls closing in, he grabs whatever cash he can carry, and he runs.”

“And we wait,” Elias finishes.

I nod, tracking the methodology. It requires precision. Ruining a man of his standing demands irrefutable evidence.

“I have a condition,” I interject.

Every head in the trailer turns toward me.

“Leave me out of the leak. Leave June out of it.” I look at Cole, then shift my gaze to Elias. “I refuse to let my daughter’s memory get tangled up in a news cycle with his name. He doesn’t get to claim any part of her existence. He doesn’t get to taint her.”

“Done,” Cole says. He doesn’t ask Elias for permission. He simply issues the guarantee, his jaw locked in defiance.

Elias offers a single, sharp nod of agreement. “It isn’t necessary to use your past. Silas uncovered a goldmine of unrelated filth.”

Silas brings up a complex web of financial flowcharts on the monitor. Arrows connect domestic charity accounts to shell corporations listed in the Cayman Islands.

“Raymond uses the youth outreach program as a laundering front,” Silas explains. “He funnels millions of dollars in donations straight into offshore accounts managed by Sanctum operatives. He finances their remaining compounds. I also found hidden servers registered to dummy corporations under his name. They host extensive material linked to child exploitation rings.”

Bile rises in my throat.

“Teddy is on standby,” Jules adds. She checks the screen of her phone. “Silas packages the data. I draft the anonymous tip. We send the entire digital footprint directly to Teddy’s contacts at the FBI, and I send copies to three major investigative journalists in Nashville.”

“Once the federal machinery starts moving, Raymond gets a warning,” Silas says. “Not enough to save him. Just enough to make him understand exactly what’s coming.”

“He loses the money. He loses the reputation. He faces federal prison,” Elias finishes. “Then we watch his house. He will attempt to run. When he packs a bag and hits the road, we take him.”

The logistics click together in my brain. It is a flawless, brutal trap. They don’t chase the target. They make him run directly into the crosshairs.

Logan kicks his boots up onto an empty folding chair. The fire eater flicks his silver lighter open and shut, the metallic clack keeping a steady, restless rhythm.

“What about the room?” Logan asks Elias. Then he turns to me. “We usually spend a few days prepping the trailer. Building the set.”

Elias rests his hands on the top of his cane. “We aren’t building a set this time.”

Logan stops spinning the lighter. “No ambiance?”

“None required,” Cole answers. He slides his knife into the leather sheath strapped to his forearm. “Raymond expects federal agents. He expects the police. He’ll spend every mile watching his mirrors for flashing lights.”

Cole turns his head. The dark, feral heat in his eyes ignites the heavy rush of blood in my veins.