The rain had shifted to a fine mist by the time Eleanor and Daniela left the warehouse, but the cold still cut through their jackets as if the fabric wasn't even there.
They moved separately, as planned. Two different routes, no direct tailing, no patterns. That was how you survived when people like Kayleigh — or those who inherited her throne — still breathed.
Eleanor reached the safehouse first. A temporary apartment, paid for in cash, wired with their own security cameras and lock system. She double-checked the door, then went through her usual ritual: blinds drawn, alarms armed, second handgun placed beneath the kitchen counter.
Daniela arrived twenty minutes later, tossing her soaked jacket onto the couch.
"You're getting good at disappearing," Eleanor commented.
Daniela allowed herself a brief smile. "Bad habit, I guess."
They sat at the kitchen table, illuminated only by the dim yellow of a cheap overhead bulb. The tablet lay between them, still displaying the files from the warehouse.
"Look at this," Daniela said, pointing at the flow of transactions. "Santos isn't just keeping Kayleigh's network alive. He's repurposing it — branching into Eastern Europe, new supply lines, new partners. He's replacing Kayleigh, not protecting her."
Eleanor's jaw tightened.
"And yet somehow Kayleigh still knows everything we do."
Daniela didn't say it out loud, but they both thought it: there was a leak somewhere. Somebody was feeding Kayleigh intelligence even from inside a maximum security federal prison.
"We need Duncan," Eleanor finally said.
Detective Duncan was still technically with the department — technically — but he'd been buried in paperwork and procedural audits since the first investigation blew apart Kayleigh's operation. His badge remained intact, but his career was permanently stained.
Which is why he didn't hesitate when Daniela called.
He arrived that same night, slipping through the side entrance of the safehouse like a man who no longer trusted doors.
"You really know how to pick your hideouts," Duncan muttered.
"Low rent. Low profile." Daniela handed him a cup of black coffee. "High paranoia."
Duncan's eyes narrowed as he skimmed the files.
"I know Santos. He's a smart bottom-feeder. Always wanted Kayleigh's ear, never quite earned it. But if he's building this kind of portfolio..." He trailed off. "He's being financed."
"By who?" Eleanor asked.
Duncan set the tablet down.
"That's the better question."
They all sat in silence for a beat.
"We need leverage," Duncan said. "Get one of Santos' men to flip."
"He won't be sloppy," Eleanor said. "Santos saw what happened to Kayleigh. He'll kill his own men before they have a chance to talk."
"That's why we don't go after his lieutenants first," Duncan said. "We go after his money."
The plan was risky. Dangerous. Technically illegal. But this was not a world where rules held much weight anymore.
Daniela had quietly retained an old informant from her undercover days — a financial broker named Darius who specialized in laundering cartel money through cryptocurrency. If anyone could trace Santos' shell companies, it was him.
They met Darius at a late-night diner in Queens, in a booth that smelled like burnt coffee and old grease.
"You know what you're asking, right?" Darius said, stirring his tea slowly.
"If we weren't desperate, we wouldn't have called," Daniela replied.
Darius studied both women for a moment, then sighed.
"I can crack a few of his front companies. But the moment I do, they'll know. The kind of heat that follows this?" He paused. "It won't just come for you."
"We know," Eleanor said quietly.
Darius shook his head, almost admiringly. "You two are either the bravest people I've ever met… or the stupidest."
"Maybe both," Daniela said.
Darius reached into his coat and slid a small drive across the table.
"Give me seventy-two hours. After that, you'll have a map of his offshore network. But after that... I'm gone."
"That's fair," Daniela said.
"And if anyone asks?" Darius added, eyes narrowing.
"You were never here," Eleanor answered.
In prison, Kayleigh sat calmly inside the visitation room as Ruiz delivered the update.
"They're moving fast," Ruiz said. "They're building a financial case."
Kayleigh smiled as though it was all part of the plan.
"They think they can dismantle what they don't fully understand."
Her voice softened.
"Daniela is predictable. She still thinks like a cop — attack the money trail, break the chain. But Eleanor..." Her eyes gleamed. "Eleanor still knows how my world works. She will hesitate when it gets ugly."
Ruiz hesitated, lowering his voice. "And if they succeed?"
Kayleigh's eyes narrowed, voice chilling.
"They won't."
Two nights later, as Eleanor and Daniela reviewed Darius' first files, a knock came at the door.
Both froze.
They weren't expecting anyone.
Eleanor drew her weapon silently. Daniela moved to check the security camera feed.
It was Duncan — but behind him stood another man.
Daniela buzzed them in, but not without caution.
"This better be good," Eleanor said as they entered.
"It is," Duncan said, gesturing to the man behind him. "This is Leo Silva."
Daniela's face hardened.
"My cousin," she said tightly.
Leo offered a nervous smile.
"I know people inside Santos' crew. People get scared. They want out. They might be willing to talk."
"Why now?" Eleanor asked.
"Because," Leo answered, "Santos is more paranoid than Kayleigh ever was. And some of his own people are realizing he won't hesitate to kill them."
Later that night, after everyone left, Eleanor stood alone at the kitchen window, staring out into the dark city.
Daniela came up behind her, wrapping her arms gently around Eleanor's waist.
"You're thinking too much again," Daniela whispered.
Eleanor didn't answer for a long moment.
Finally, she whispered, "She's still out there. Watching. Even from a cell."
Daniela tightened her grip.
"Then let her watch. This time... we'll finish it."
Outside, in the shadows beyond the streetlamp, a parked car idled.
Inside, an unseen figure watched them through binoculars, phone in hand, whispering into a burner.
"They're in position."
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued