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### : Smoke and Exposure**
The judge's mansion loomed in the city's diplomatic quarter—quiet, elegant, fortified behind layers of prestige. His name was Harold Rembrandt. Respected. Feared. And dirty to the bone.
Kael adjusted the lapel of his blazer as they approached the entrance, glancing sideways at Aurora.
"You're sure about this?" he muttered.
"I don't bluff, Kael," she said, eyes cold and sharp. "And men like him don't respond to polite requests. They need something... visceral."
The butler ushered them in without question. No appointment, no hesitation. Aurora had already made contact the night before—with just enough detail to make Rembrandt too paranoid to ignore them.
They were led into his private study. Thick carpets. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A vintage cigar humidor to the left. The judge stood behind his desk, face hard as granite, but Kael saw the flicker of fear under his surface. Good.
"You have five minutes," Judge Rembrandt said. "That's more than generous."
Kael placed the evidence file on the desk—flash drives, photographs, timestamps, chemical reports. "This is about Moretti," he said. "We have footage of one of his drug warehouses. We want you to issue a sealed warrant for a forensic sweep and open an inquiry. Quietly. Then tomorrow morning, you'll unseal it."
Rembrandt didn't even glance at the file. "Not interested."
"You haven't looked at the footage," Kael replied.
"I don't care. You think you're the first to bring me dirt on Moretti? He owns this city. And I have no interest in dying for your crusade. Now get out."
Kael opened his mouth to protest, but Aurora had already stepped forward, slow and smooth like a predator. She dropped a second drive on the desk. It was unlabeled.
The judge's face paled.
"You recognize it?" she asked softly. "You should. It's from one of your private cameras."
"I—"
Aurora pulled her phone out and tapped the screen. The nearby TV blinked on. A grainy video loaded.
The judge's expression collapsed the moment the image sharpened: him—clearly visible, naked, panting, and very much on top of a terrified girl. The timestamp: three years ago. The next clip showed him with another. Younger. Crying.
Kael didn't look at the screen. He didn't need to. He just watched the man break in real time.
"This is blackmail," Rembrandt rasped.
"No," Aurora said coolly, "this is leverage. You refused to protect the innocent. You chose power. You preyed on girls who had no one. Now we've decided you'll serve justice—or you'll rot next to Moretti. The footage will go to the press, to child protection agencies, and every bar association in the country."
Kael leaned in. "The only way this doesn't destroy you is if you cooperate. Play hero, Judge. Just this once."
Rembrandt said nothing. Then he sank into his chair, sweat collecting on his brow. "Send me the warehouse footage. I'll move the inquiry."
Aurora smiled, sharp as broken glass. "Now you're listening."
---
**The Next Morning**
The news hit like a bomb.
**Breaking: Secret Drug Warehouse Linked to Billionaire Businessman Moretti Raided by Authorities**
The footage was everywhere. CNN. BBC. Local news. Anonymous leaks flooded the airwaves. Aurora had ensured the media got the right footage—and more importantly, the *right* narrative.
The most damning piece? Surveillance video from inside the warehouse. Moretti himself, in a dark coat and gloves, inspecting a crate of cocaine. His assistant beside him, laughing as they tested product purity. The timestamp matched a missing persons report of a teenage runner found dead weeks later from an overdose.
Kael stood in front of the TV in the safe house, arms folded, jaw locked. "It's out."
Aurora appeared beside him, coffee in hand, watching the chaos unfold.
"Now we see how the rat runs," she murmured.
Kael glanced at her. "You just made yourself the most dangerous woman in this city."
She smiled without joy. "I've always been."
---
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### ** Smoke and Exposure** *(Continued)*
The sirens cut through the silence of the estate like knives. Police cruisers lined the long stretch of private road leading to Moretti's mansion on the hill. Helicopters hovered above. Cameras clicked from a distance as journalists scrambled behind barricades, hungry for the shot of the decade.
It was 6:42 a.m.
The gate was forced open.
The officers didn't knock.
Inside, Moretti was sitting at his glass dining table in a silk robe, sipping espresso. His assistant, Franco, stood nearby, frozen. A single tremor betrayed the panic barely hidden beneath Moretti's carefully neutral expression.
"On the ground! Now!"
The lead detective's voice echoed through the marble halls as armed officers swarmed the foyer. No ceremony. No special treatment.
" Moretti," the officer read from the warrant as two others cuffed him, "you're under arrest for the manufacturing, distribution, and trafficking of illegal narcotics, as well as conspiracy to obstruct justice."
Moretti didn't resist. He simply looked up, calm as ever, and asked, "Do you know who I am?"
The officer didn't respond. He only tightened the cuffs and dragged him away.
Across the city, televisions blared the news.
> **"Philanthropist and Billionaire Moretti Arrested in Shocking Drug Bust."**
> **"Footage Shows Moretti at Center of Multimillion-Dollar Drug Network."**
> **"The Man Who Claimed to Save Youths Now Linked to Their Deaths."**
Clips of Moretti cutting ceremonial ribbons at youth centers and handing out scholarships now played in mocking contrast to grainy warehouse footage of him laughing beside cocaine bricks.
The world watched.
And Aurora watched from her penthouse.
---
**Aurora's Penthouse**
The screens were muted, but the images said enough. Reporters screaming over one another. Courtroom footage being replayed. The clip of Moretti's face as he was led into a cruiser. Blank. Cold.
Kael sat at the table, exhausted but sharp, reading the initial legal response from Moretti's lawyers.
"He's denying everything," he said. "Claims the footage is fake."
"They always do," Aurora replied, pouring a drink. "But the judge signed off. That puts the police in motion, even if the higher-ups are pissed."
"They are," Kael muttered. "Half the department's panicking."
Aurora turned to face him, glass in hand, eyes unreadable. "You think this makes us safe?"
Kael shook his head. "This makes us dangerous."
---
**Moretti's Holding Cell — Later That Evening**
In the holding cell beneath the federal courthouse, Moretti sat alone.
But his expression had shifted now—he wasn't calm.
He was seething.
"Find out who helped them," he told his lawyer in a private room. "I want names. Every judge, every officer, every rat who even breathed near that file. And especially…"
His voice darkened.
"…Aurora Vale ."
His lawyer swallowed. "With all due respect, sir—right now, you need to focus on defense. The footage—"
"Focus on *removal*," Moretti snapped. "Aurora's playing god. But gods bleed."
He leaned forward, and a glimmer of something far more dangerous flickered in his eyes.
"I want her in pieces."
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