Storm's Cage Mary Stone (classic reads .TXT) 📖

and forth between Ben and Jasmine as she held up a hand. “Wait a second. With all due respect, Mr. Storey, SAC Keaton, what exactly does this have to do with us?”

As Jasmine dropped into her seat, she gestured to Ben. “I’ll let you explain, Councilman.” She waved to the chairs and then to the cushioned leather bench against the wall. “Have a seat, Agents. Councilman. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Ben returned to the squat armchair. “It’s a long story, so I’ll start back at the beginning.”

Zane exchanged a glance with Amelia before they shuffled over to the bench. He undid the buttons of his black suit jacket as he took his seat.

Ben twisted in his chair to face both Amelia and Zane. “You might already know that I’m a city councilman here in Chicago, but before that, I was an immigration lawyer. I worked for a nonprofit that helped lower-income people navigate the American immigration system.”

Sipping his coffee, Zane nodded. “After our last case, we’ve got some experience with just how complicated that system is.”

“If you ask me.” Ben chuckled softly, though the sound held zero humor. “It’s easier to navigate a minefield. And I speak from personal experience there too.”

Though quiet, Zane thought he heard Amelia chuckle at the remark.

As Ben’s gaze flicked to the floor and then back to Zane and Amelia, the fleeting amusement vanished. “SAC Keaton tells me you two worked with Vivian Kell, and when she was murdered, you led the investigation to find her killers. Vivian was like family to my wife and me, so thank you for that, first and foremost.” He shifted in his seat and laced his fingers together. “And you know about the piece she’d been working on, the exposé about Premier Ag Solutions.”

“The labor contractor?” Zane rubbed his chin, feeling the spots he’d missed with his razor that morning. “Yeah, she’d caught on to some of the shady stuff they’d been doing, like failure to vet the citizenship of their workers. And that trafficking ring out in Kankakee County was using workers who were supposedly provided by Premier. They denied it all and blamed the guys who were in charge of that farm, but that’s no surprise.”

A muscle in Ben’s jaw twitched. “Premier isn’t innocent in any of this. They don’t do the dirty work themselves, but they look the other way and let it happen. Which is no surprise, honestly. I’m sure you’ve seen their profit margins. They pocket the lion’s share of what their crews of workers are paid when they get a job.”

“They’ve been fined a few times in the past.” Amelia shrugged. “But nothing ever really stuck. They paid the fines or weaseled out of them, and that was it. Nothing came up in the press, no one in Washington took notice, just a big fat nothing.”

“Right,” Ben replied. “Do you know who Premier’s biggest client is? The longest running too. It’s Happy Harvest Farms. The ag business that’s been run by the Young family since the Gilded Age. Stan Young’s son, Josh, is in charge of the company right now, but I’m pretty sure that’s just for show. Stan’s the one who’s actually running that business. There’s no way in hell he’d ever give up control, not even to his own kid.”

Zane had paid little attention to the political landscape since moving to Illinois, and if Ben Storey’s depiction of one of the state’s two sitting senators was any indication, he was better off without the knowledge.

Ben propped an elbow on the armrest. “I’ve figured that Happy Harvest Farms and Premier were both involved in forced labor trafficking, but until recently, I didn’t know who else was part of it. And to be frank, figuring that out was a little out of my wheelhouse.” His eyes drifted from Zane to Amelia. “But now we know where Premier’s been sourcing their forced labor. They’ve been working with the Leóne family.”

Before he could think better of the query, Zane shook his head. “We’ve suspected as much. Are you saying you have proof that Senator Young is a willing participant in all this? That he and his family’s multi-billion-dollar business have been working with the mob?”

Even as the words left his lips, he knew better than to doubt Ben’s information.

Corrupt politicians, wealthy oligarchs exploiting the poor for cheap or free labor, a series of dirty law enforcement operatives who gleefully covered up any trace of wrongdoing. The dynamic was all too familiar.

Zane hadn’t been bound to the Fourth or Eighth Amendments of the Constitution when he was in Russia. The Agency had given him free rein to collect intelligence by any means necessary, but here in Chicago, his hands were bound behind his back.

His adversary’s hands, however, were always free.

By the time Zane pushed the sense of impending doom out of his thoughts, Ben had already replied. Even as Zane watched the councilman provide SAC Keaton a flash drive full of financial records and other research on Premier and Happy Harvest Farms, he barely heard the conversation. His head was still stuck in a haze as he rose to shake Ben’s hand.

SAC Keaton asked Amelia and Zane to stay put while she led Ben Storey out of the building. Zane’s response was an absent nod.

Dropping back into his seat, he rubbed the site of the faded tattoo at the edge of his collarbone. His stomach twisted, and even after a long swig of coffee, the taste on his tongue was still vile.

“Are you okay? You look…queasy.” The sound of Amelia’s voice was a merciful reprieve from the dark spiral in his mind.

He dragged his eyes up to meet hers. “I’m fine.” With a deep breath, he rubbed his eyes and leaned against the chair. “Cautiously optimistic to hear there’s a possibility of confirmable proof that the Leónes are friends with a senator, though. Not just a senator, but a billionaire senator.”

Amelia snorted. “Yeah, me too. As long as we can make it all stick.”

The silence settled back in