Two weeks later, an informant named Raymond contacted Valery.
He had information about the person controlling the offshore network.
A woman named Beatrice.
The money.
The forged identities.
The properties.
The shell companies.
All of it led back to one luxury club in Panama City.
So Valery and I went there with federal investigators.
We didn’t go looking for revenge.
We went looking for the final piece of the puzzle.
Beatrice greeted us with a smile.
She knew exactly who I was.
“You survived,” she said.
“I did.”
She laughed.
“You think arresting Lucas ends this?”
“No.”
I placed a photograph on the table.
It showed Gertrude.
Then another.
It showed Beatrice.
Same mother.
Same father.
Same family records.
“You’re Gertrude’s sister.”
Her smile disappeared.
Before she could move, tactical officers stormed through the doors.
The club was surrounded.
Her escape routes were blocked.
Within minutes, the entire offshore operation collapsed.
