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They could have waited for the searches to come back on the entities revealed in the encrypted files Marsh, Jamie, and Farmer had cracked with the passkeys from Luis. But Levi—and Luis—had ultimately made the call to accelerate matters.
Levi, because they were coming up fast on their David-Kwan Friday deadline. Luis, because he wanted to know who Ward was laundering money for.
While thankfully not through the company accounts, Ward had been using RWK’s connections with suppliers to buy equipment, food stuffs, and other goods at an industry discount. With dirty money. Ward would then sell those goods on the secondary market and get paid in clean money that was funneled back to his client. A misadventure Ward had entered into during that period of failures—when he’d spiraled and tried to take his life to escape the pressure and his own bad decisions. But then things had turned around and Ward had wanted out of the laundering business.
At least that was the story Marsh had deduced from the invoices and notes Ward had left in his encrypted files. The pieces all fit, including Ward’s dead body in the lagoon and the launderers’ desperation to clean up after themselves. To find the evidence they’d thought was still in the house but which had been unintentionally removed by Luis.
“You don’t have to do this,” Levi had told Luis earlier that afternoon. “We can take it from here. At this point, they don’t even know you have the information they’re after.”
“You don’t have to put yourself in danger,” Marsh had added. He liked Luis. Respected how forthcoming and cooperative he’d been through all this. He was an innocent wrapped up in Ward’s mess; he didn’t have to put his life or business on the line.
“I need to do this for myself,” Luis had replied, voice thick with tears but no less adamant for it. “And for Ward.” He still had his friend’s back, even knowing what he’d done, even with Ward gone. Marsh respected him more for it. A deep breath later, he’d placed the call to the number on the invoices and left the message they’d rehearsed with him. “Hello. This is Luis Rivera. Ward’s old business partner. I have the information you’ve been looking for. I’m interested in learning more.”
It was a believable enough scenario—that Luis had come into possession of the incriminating evidence and wanted to revive the arrangement. A return text had arrived ten minutes later—a time later that evening and an address.
Which was how Marsh found himself between Jamie and Brax, in front of the monitors of the mobile command van. They were parked across the street from an industrial complex in Oceanside, waiting for the launderers to arrive for a seven o’clock meeting with Luis. Between them and the meeting site were four lanes of rush hour traffic and a steady stream of folks going to and from the complex. Organized in a U-configuration, the complex’s three buildings were each a single story, four suites each, roll-up bay doors at the front of each unit. All but one of the units had their doors rolled down, tenants wisely staying cool in the sweltering heat.
Marsh would bet Levi was already sweating through his shirt under his tactical vest, positioned as he was in the lookout spot on the roof of the complex’s center building. He’d wanted to be one of the primary tactical teams, but Marsh had pulled him aside and, admittedly unfairly, reminded him that David would be supremely pissed if Levi got shot two days before the wedding and had to delay it again. Levi had cursed Marsh’s sudden but inevitable betrayal and conceded the primary posts, taking lookout instead.
“Teams report,” he called, getting “Clear” replies from Farmer’s team in the first unit of the right-side building and from Aidan’s team in the center building, one unit over from where the meet would go down.
Charlie’s “Incoming” from where she was circulating among other FBI agents pretending to be civilians at a company picnic at the far end of the left building drew Levi’s bird’s-eye view her direction.
His camera caught a gray Camry pulling into the parking lot, driving past the picnic area, and into a spot near the middle building. “Looks like a match,” Jamie said. “Same make and model as the car Press identified the night of the break-in.”
“Talley, you’re up,” Marsh said.
“Eyes on,” Aidan confirmed.
Two white men climbed out of the car. The driver was middle-aged, suited, and carried himself with an air of authority. The passenger was younger, a bruiser who walked a step behind Mr. Suit on their way to the unit Luis waited out front of. Marsh would bet his Stetson that Bruiser was the person who’d trashed Press’s home Saturday night. Fit the description, same as the car.
“Mr. Rivera,” the suited man greeted, his words audible through the in-ear comm Luis wore. “Dayton McConnell,” he said, hand extended.
“Run him,” Marsh said to Jamie and Brax, the former checking all the sources, legit and otherwise, available to him, the latter on rap sheets and records. “Fifty-fifty shot it’s an alias.”
“I was surprised to hear from you,” McConnell said.
“I was surprised to learn what Ward was up to,” Luis replied.
“Were you?”
“He didn’t let on. Shame, as I might have been able to help.”
“I’d like to hear how,” McConnell said. “If you have what I need.”
Luis nodded, and McConnell gestured toward the door. Bruiser keyed in a code on the lock pad, and the group entered, disappearing from view.
“Farmer, Henby, second position,” Levi said, moving their teams closer, the three teams now surrounding the unit, Levi maintaining lookout.
“How do you think you can help us, Mr. Rivera?”
Luis didn’t reply immediately, and Marsh’s heart lodged in his throat, fearing the worst for a moment, until Luis finally spoke again. “Are you in the tortilla business? This is a lot of masa.”
Marsh pointed at Brax. “Check for orders in Ward’s invoices. Do we have Ward buying the masa with dirty money?” Then to Jamie. “See if?—”
“If it was sold on the secondary,” Jamie said, following. “On it.”
Marsh tuned back into the conversation, shifting between camera views, monitoring for any additional activity.
