Chapter 253
Chapter 253:
“Get me Kane Industries security on the phone,” Morgan ordered. “And I want a tactical team ready to move to the control center immediately.”
As agents rushed to carry out his orders, Morgan stared at Preston’s photo on the evidence wall.
“What drives a man to this?” he wondered aloud. “The bombings weren’t just about damage; they were about sending a message. Making Kane suffer.”
“Revenge is powerful,” Chen said quietly. “Especially when it’s been brewing for a decade.”
Morgan nodded slowly. “But revenge this calculated, this patient… it’s almost admirable in a twisted way. He waited for the perfect moment, the perfect target.”
“And now he’s disappeared,” Chen added. “With enough explosives to take down the main control center.”
“He won’t succeed,” Morgan said firmly. “We know his target. We know his timeline. For the first time, we’re ahead of him.”
A junior agent approached with a tablet. “Sir, we found something else in Preston’s files. Plans for after the attack. A private plane waiting at a small airfield in New Jersey, scheduled for tomorrow night. Destination: Venezuela.”
“No extradition,” Chen noted.
“He wasn’t planning to die in the attack,” Morgan said. “He wanted to watch the fallout from afar. To see Kane suffer.”
“Classic narcissist,” Chen agreed. “He doesn’t just want revenge, he wants to enjoy it.”
Morgan turned to the assembled team, his voice commanding attention. “We have less than 36 hours to find Herod Preston before he attacks the control center. Every resource, every agent, every contact—we need everything focused on finding this man.”
As the team dispersed to carry out his orders, Morgan turned back to the evidence wall. Something about the case bothered him, a feeling he couldn’t quite define. It all seemed too perfect, too neat. Preston had left them a clear trail, as if he wanted to be identified. But why? Why leave so much evidence?
“Maybe he wants the recognition,” Chen suggested when Morgan voiced his concern. “Some bombers do it for the fame, the notoriety.”
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“Maybe,” Morgan conceded, though he wasn’t convinced.
Whatever Preston’s reasons, one thing was clear: he needed to be stopped.
Before more lives were lost. Before Victoria Kane’s legacy was destroyed. Before Herod Preston completed his decade-long quest for revenge.
As night fell over the city, Morgan stood on the roof of the FBI building, watching lights flicker on across the skyline. Many of those lights were now powered by the Phoenix Grid—the same grid Herod Preston was determined to destroy. His phone buzzed with a text from the surveillance team: “No sign of Preston at any known locations. Still searching.”
Morgan put the phone away, frustration gnawing at him. How did a man like Preston—wealthy, visible, well-known—simply disappear?
The answer was as troubling as it was obvious: he’d planned this. All of it. The bombs, the evidence, the escape. Every detail meticulously arranged over months, perhaps years.
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