Chapter 6 - The Key Biscayne Trap
The Florida heat was oppressive, heavy with humidity and the smell of salt water. I sat in an unmarked black surveillance van parked a block away from the Key Biscayne private marina. The FBI had swarmed the area with undercover agents posing as dockworkers, tourists, and boat owners.
Agent Reynolds handed me an earpiece. "He's making contact. A small charter boat just docked at slip 42. It matches the description of the vessel he hired out of Nassau."
I looked at the live camera feed on the van's monitors. Richard stepped off the boat. He looked terrible. He was unshaven, sweating profusely through a wrinkled linen shirt, and constantly looking over his shoulder. The arrogant, polished man who had sent me that cruel text message just forty-eight hours ago was gone, replaced by a hunted animal.
He walked hurriedly toward the private banking office located at the end of the pier. He punched a code into the keypad and slipped inside.
"Agents, move in," Reynolds ordered over the radio.
"Wait," I said, grabbing the agent's arm. "Let me go in first."
Reynolds frowned. "Mrs. Sterling, that is highly irregular and dangerous. He is a desperate man."
"He is a coward," I corrected. "And I need to do this. I need him to know that it wasn't the FBI who caught him. I need him to know it was me."
Reynolds looked at Evelyn, who simply nodded. "Two minutes, Catherine. Then we breach."
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I stepped out of the van, the Florida sun blinding for a moment. I walked down the wooden pier, my heels clicking rhythmically against the planks. Every undercover agent’s eyes were on me, but I felt absolutely no fear. I felt nothing but cold, absolute sovereignty over my own life.
I reached the door of the private bank branch, took a deep breath, and pushed it open.
