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Vandal grins. “So, when are we gonna go break it to him that we know?”

“No time like the present,” Knox says.

Voss’s office is in one of those beige county buildings that smell of floor wax and stale coffee. The fluorescent lights hum in the hallway. Lock and Reaper bring the security guard with us to stop him from doing something stupid, like calling the cops.

There’s a receptionist ahead of us doing her best to pretend we’re not here, until North puts his hand on the desk and she’s forced to look up.

“Zoning and permits,” he says. “We got an appointment with Mr. Voss.”

She does something on her computer, then swallows deeply. “Erm…I don’t see any appointments on his calendar.”

North huffs. “Trust me. He’s gonna want to see us, and you don’t want any part of this.”

She points to the stairwell. “Second floor. Third door on the left.”

Lock and Reaper stay with the receptionist and guard while the rest of us head up the stairs.

When we get to his office, we can see him through the open door before he sees us. He’s a soft man sitting in an even softer chair, wearing an ill-fitting white shirt and blue-striped tie. He’s sweating profusely and dabs his brow with a white handkerchief.

When he looks up, his mouth opens, then closes as Knox, North, Ridge, and me crowd into his office while Havoc and Vandal stand watch in the hallway.

Knox opens the burner phone Wren sent all the details to. “Mr. Voss,” he says. “We need you to do something for us.”

“Gentlemen,” he splutters. “Whatever it is, I’m not sure I can⁠—”

“That’s a really nice yacht you’ve got moored in that harbor just south of Miami,” Knox says, offering the phone in Voss’s direction.

The color immediately drains from Voss’s face, leaving him a haunting shade of gray. “How do you know about that?”

At least he has the good sense not to deny it.

“We know a lot of things,” I say. “We know about the cash, the bribes, the account in Grand Cayman.”

He reaches for the bottle of water on his desk, but his hands shake as he tries to open it. It’s painful to watch, but none of us speak while the man fumbles, likely desperately trying to come up with some kind of exit plan, here.

“What do you want?” he asks, finally.

Knox leans closer to him. “You’re going to refuse every application that crosses your desk for every parcel of coastal land by a company called Velaro Coastal Group. Every permit. Every variance. Every annex. You’re going to find a reason it can’t be built. You are going to become the reason it isn’t built.”

Beads of sweat form on his brow.

“This is…you can’t…” His voice cracks, and that break in his authority is just what we need. “You can’t threaten a government official.”

I crouch down on the other side of him. “We can, actually. Because what we’re threatening with is exposing your crimes. And you can’t report us, because you won’t be able to tell the police what we have on you.” I take hold of his wrist, gripping it when he tries to take it back. “We could use force, if you’d prefer.”

I bend his finger back hard, and just as he’s about to scream, Knox flattens his palm over the guy’s mouth. Then, I release it.

“That would be the hard way. The easy way is, you do what we ask, and you keep taking your bribes and shit and we won’t say a word.”

He looks at me, shock etched through his features. “I can’t do what you’re⁠—”

“You’re reading this all wrong,” I say with a harsh smile. “Because we aren’t giving you an option.”

The man shakes, hard. But I don’t feel bad. He has made a good living from allowing the wealthy to set the tone for what gets developed here. I think about my club and why Gator Flats is our home. I think about Della and why those waterways mean so much to her.

What we’re doing here is worth it, whatever the costs. Whatever I have to do to keep Della and my club safe is what I’ll do.

“Refuse the permits,” Knox says. “If you don’t, those files will make it to every media outlet and the sheriff.”