Chapter 3 - The Estate at Route 301
The iron security gates of the Voss estate didn't even slow down Ghost Squad’s armored Ford Expedition. Miller slammed the front bumper straight through the automated latch, the heavy wrought-iron bars groaning and swinging wide open as we tore up the quarter-mile crushed-stone driveway toward the sprawling limestone mansion.
Through the massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the grand ballroom, high-society donors and local politicians in evening gowns and tuxedoes could be seen sipping champagne, completely unaware that federal task force units were currently freezing their corporate bank accounts across three states.
We didn't use the front entrance.
Vance cut the engine fifty yards from the side service terrace. The four of us stepped out into the crisp night air, moving with the synchronized, silent precision of a recon patrol entering a hostile grid.
“Federal agents secured the rear exits ten minutes ago,” Vance whispered into his comms unit. “We have direct visual on target. Cameron Voss is standing by the indoor pool area with two of his father’s private security goons.”
We bypassed the alarm sensors using a military-grade signal jammer supplied by federal cyber-ops, slipping through the glass double doors of the indoor pool pavilion like shadows.
Cameron Voss was lounging on a plush leather recliner, a glass of scotch in one hand, laughing loudly as a private security guard lit a cigar for him. He was wearing an expensive custom blazer, his blond hair perfectly styled, looking every bit the untouchable prince of Hanover County.
“I’m telling you, Dad’s lawyers will have those federal spooks tied up in district court before breakfast,” Cameron bragged to the guard. “That soldier thinks he can come back and play hero? His wife is crippled for life, and there’s not a damn thing—oof!”
My combat boot caught him square in the chest, lifting him and the leather recliner backward until they crashed hard against the mosaic tile floor of the pool deck. The crystal glass shattered, spraying amber scotch and glass shards across the floor.
Cameron gasped for air, his eyes bulging as he looked up and saw me standing over him.
“You... you’re supposed to be in county holding with the sheriff!” Cameron choked out, scrambling backward across the wet tiles until his back hit the base of a marble pillar.
The two private security guards immediately reached for their sidearms, but before their hands could clear their holsters, Miller and Reyes had already closed the distance. With lightning-fast, non-lethal precision, Miller swept the first guard’s legs out from under him, slamming him chin-first into the tile, while Reyes delivered a sharp palm-strike to the second guard’s solar plexus, dropping him instantly to his knees gasping for breath.
“Clear!” Reyes called out, securing both weapons in less than four seconds.
I walked slowly toward Cameron, my boots clicking rhythmically against the stone. I reached down, grabbed him by the lapels of his expensive blazer, and hoisted him effortlessly to his feet, slamming him against the marble pillar with enough force to rattle his teeth.
“You broke my wife’s legs,” I said, my voice dead, flat, and absolute. “You laughed on the phone and told me your dad owned the police.”
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Cameron’s face turned gray with terror. He clawed at my wrists, his arrogant facade completely shattered. “My father is Richard Voss! You can’t touch me! You’ll be court-martialed! You’ll go to military prison for the rest of your life!”
“Your father is currently being zip-tied in his own study by federal marshals,” I whispered into his ear. “And your police force is currently being dismantled from the top down. You aren't untouchable, Cameron. You’re just a coward who picked the wrong family to terrorize.”
