Chapter 139
Chapter 139
Special Agent Diana Chen ducked under the yellow tape surrounding what remained of Substation 12. The smell of burnt metal and melted plastic filled her nose. Five days after the explosion, the site still smoldered in places. FBI evidence techs in white suits moved through the wreckage, marking and collecting anything that might help identify who had done this. “What do we have so far?” her partner, Agent Trent Morgan, asked as he joined heeotebook in hand.
Chen pointed to a corner where three techs huddled around something. “They found pieces of the detonator. Military grade, just like at Substation 8.”
“So we’re looking at the same person for both bombings, Morgan said, scribbling in his notebook.
“It gets better.” Chen led him toward a table where collected evidence sat in clear plastic bags. She picked up one containing a twisted piece of metal. “Look at this.”
Morgan squinted at the bag. “Is that a business card?”
“What’s left of one.” Chen nodded. “Fire damaged it, but our lab confirmed part of a name. ‘TON.‘ And look at the comer,that s a corporate logo.”
Morgan took the bag, studying it closely. “Preston Enterprises.”
“As in Herod Preston,” Chen said, her voice rising with excitement. “The FBI database has his fingerprints from when he applied for an international business license. They found a match on pieces of wire from both explosion sites.” Morgan let out a low whistle. “So we’ve got him at both scenes. We’ve got his business card. Motive?”
“That’s where it gets interesting.” Chen pulled out her tablet, bringing up a file. “Preston’s family had a shipping empire that collapsed about ten years ago after some kind of conflict with Victoria Kane. His father and brother both killed themselves afterward.”
“Revenge against Kane Industries,” Morgan mused. “But why now? Why wait ten years?”
“The Phoenix Grid is Victoria Kane’s biggest project in a decade,” Chen said. “Maximum damage to her legacy.”
“We need everything on this guy,” Morgan said, his eyes hardening. “Get a warrant for his apartment and office. I want to know what else he’s planning.”
Three hours later, the FBI tactical team broke down the door of Herod Preston’s penthouse apartment. Morgan and Chen followed them in, weapons drawn.
“Clear!” called the team leader after checking each room. “No one’s home.”
Morgan holstered his weapon, looking around the luxurious space. Floor–to–ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city. Expensive furniture, original artwork on the walls, a bar stocked with top–shelf liquor.
“He lives well,” Chen remarked, pulling on latex gloves.
“Lived well,” Morgan corrected. “After this, his life is over.”
The evidence response team moved through the apartment, dusting for fingerprints, photographing everything, searching for evidence.
“Agent Morgan!” called one of the techs from the bedroom. “You need to see this.”
Morgan and Chen hurried into the master bedroom. On the bed lay architectural blueprints of the Phoenix Grid substations. Red marks highlighted vulnerable points, the exact locations where the bombs had been placed. Next to the blueprints sat a notebook filled with calculations: blast radii, structural damage estimates, power outage projections.
“Holy mother of….” Chen whispered. “It’s like he wasn’t even trying to hide it.”
Morgan flipped through the notebook. Page after page of detailed plans, all in the same handwriting. “Check these for prints,” he ordered a nearby tech.
Near the blueprints lay a map of the entire Grid system, with one location circled multiple times in red: the main control
center.
“He’s planning another attack,” Morgan said, his voice tight. “Get me everything on the security measures at the main control center. Now.”
Successfully unlocked!
Another agent approached holding a tablet. “Sir, we in this in the salt.
On the screen were pages of text, emails between Preston and someone identified only as “H.P.” discussing the bombings. Messages sent from Preston to himself, documenting his plans, his hatred for Victoria Kane, his determination to destroy everything she had built.
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Chapter 139
“It’s a journal,” Chen said, scrolling through the entries. “He documented everything.”
Morgan shook his head, amazed at the man’s arrogance. “He thought he was untouchable.”
As the team continued searching, more evidence mounted. Financial records showing Preston had withdrawn large sums of cash in the weeks before each bombing. Receipts for components that matched those used in the explosive devices. Photos of the substations taken days before the attacks, with Preston’s fingerprints on them.
“It’s overwhelming,” Chen said as they stood in the living room, surveying the collected evidence. “I’ve never seen a case this clear–cut.”
“He’s not just a bomber,” Morgan said grimly. “He’s a would–be mass murderer.” He pointed to a page of the notebook a tech had just bagged. “Look at his calculations for casualties if he hits the main control center during working hours.”
Chen looked sick as she read the numbers. “He’s estimating at least fifty dead.”
“Issue an APB immediately,” Morgan ordered. “All airports, train stations, bus terminals. I want Preston’s face everywhere. Consider him armed and extremely dangerous.”
“What about his associates?” Chen asked. “Anyone who might be helping him?”
Morgan considered this. “Check his phone records, emails, social media. But from what we’re seeing, this looks like a one- man vendetta. A rich guy with resources, technical knowledge, and a decade–old grudge.”
“The worst kind of enemy,” Chen murmured.
As the team packed up the evidence, Morgan stood at the window, looking out at the city, at the millions of people who would be affected if the main control center was destroyed. Somewhere out there, Herod Preston was hiding, planning his
next move.
“We’re not just trying to solve two bombings anymore,” Morgan said quietly. “We’re trying to prevent a massacre.”
***
Back at FBI headquarters, Morgan stood before a wall covered in photos, documents, and timelines. At the center was a picture of Herod Preston, tall, handsome, with cold eyes that seemed to challenge anyone looking at him.
“Financial analysis came in,” Chen said, entering with a stack of reports. “Preston was on the verge of bankruptcy three months ago. His company was failing, his investments tanking. Then suddenly, he pays off all his debts, starts spending like crazy.”
“Source of the money?” Morgan asked, not looking away from Preston’s photo.
“That’s the thing,” Chen said. “We can’t find it. He emptied several offshore accounts, but we don’t know where those funds came from originally.”
“So he was preparing,” Morgan mused. “Getting his finances in order before launching his attacks.”
A junior agent entered, holding a report. “Sir, ballistics confirmed the explosives used in both substations were military grade, available only through black market channels.”
“Preston has shipping connections all over the world,” Chen noted. “He could have brought them in through any number of ports.”
Morgan nodded, pieces falling into place. “What about his personal life? Any relationships we should know about?”
“He’s been seen at several events with Rose Lewis, 28, the adopted sister of Camille Kane,” Chen said, checking her notes. But there’s nothing to suggest she knows anything about the bombings. She was at The Plaza Hotel during both attacks, confirmed by multiple witnesses and security footage.”
“Just a coincidence, then,” Morgan said, dismissing it. “Focus on Preston. I want to know where he is, who he’s contacted, what he’s planning next.”
His phone rang, the lab with preliminary results on the notebook found in Preston’s apartment.
“Morgan,” he answered, putting the call on speaker.
“Sir, we’ve confirmed all the handwriting in the notebook belongs to Preston, came the voice on the other end. ” Fingerprints match too. And we found traces of the same explosive compounds used in the bombings on several pages.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, sir. We analyzed the map with the control center circled. Based on the pen impressions, we believe he was planning to attack tomorrow night, around 9 PM.”
Morgan and Chen exchanged alarmed looks.
“That’s when the Grid is scheduled to reach full operational capacity,” Chen said, checking her tablet. “Maximum impact.”
“Get me Kane Industries security on the phone,” Morgan ordered. “And I want a tactical team ready to move to the control center immediately.”
Chapter 139
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, I want 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 was all 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.”
“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 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.
This wasn’t a crime of passion. This was calculated hatred, refined like high–grade uranium, deadly and precise. Tomorrow night, Preston would try to destroy the control center. To kill dozens of innocent people. To cripple the city’s power grid and bring Victoria Kane’s empire crashing down.
Unless Morgan found him first.
The city lights blurred as exhaustion crept in. Morgan rubbed his eyes, knowing he should sleep but too wired to even consider it.
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