The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 448

Chapter 220 2

Chapter 220-2

*2* Pointy

untraceable, nested offshore trust with clean monthly wire distribution to a moving target?” Byte asks, his fingers starting to fly across his keys with a rapid-fire cadence of clicks. “Zara, that’s

almost insulting by how easy it is. Give me twenty minutes.”

I blink. “Seriously? I thought it would take days.”

“Nah.”

“Wow. I mean, I knew you were good, Byte, but I had no idea you were that good.”

“Oh, hon.” He flashes me a grin. “You have no idea how good I really am.”

I laugh. “So… how do you do this?”

“I’ll bounce the routing through eight foreign proxy servers, starting with one in Zurich, and seed the capital through a shell entity in Singapore. She’ll get her first deposit confirmation by noon today, and not even the feds, the IRS, or Knox’s bank lawyers will ever be able to figure out where the money came from.”

I look over at Rook, wondering what he thinks about using my money to support my dead

husband’s mistress and child.

The Skulls’ Sergeant-at-Arms holds my gaze for a long, heavy moment, evaluating me with the sharp, ruthless instincts that have kept him alive on these streets for over thirty years. Then, he slowly drags his whetstone down the steel blade one more time with a satisfying, metallic shhhk.

“The kid gets a clean slate,” Rook says, a rare flash of warm approval softening his harsh eyes. Good call, Zara. Knox’s sins stay with Knox. The kid doesn’t bear his patch, his shame, or his debt.”

“Thank you, both of you,” I say, feeling a knot in my chest loosen slightly. “I knew you’d understand.”

Byte nods once, his focus already completely consumed by the code cascading down his screens

as he begins building the financial pipeline.

I stand in the center of the hallway for a moment, taking a deep, steadying breath. Xena sits quietly at my feet, staring up at me, watching my every eyelash flutter. I smile at her, give her a quick pet,

and sigh. I feel a quiet, profound sense of closure wash over me.

I’ve done everything I can for the innocent people caught in the collateral wreckage of Knox’s dark

shadow:

I’ve said my piece to Cain, laying his honor to rest with the dignity he earned.

I’ve ensured that Becca and her unborn child won’t starve in the cold streets.

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The past is settled as much as it can ever be. The debt to my old life is paid in full, written off in

blood and legal ink.

Now, there’s only the present. There’s only the war waiting right outside our gates, and the men

who think they can take what belongs to us.

I smooth my hair down, turn on my heel, and walk down the long, wood-paneled corridor toward the heavy oak door at the far end, to Dad’s private office. Xena pads silently at my side, her nails clicking softly against the dark floorboards, her head held high and alert.

I don’t knock. I push the heavy oak door open and step directly inside.

The room is thick with the rich, familiar scent of cured tobacco, aged leather, dark roast coffee, and whiskey. Morning sunlight streams through the high, reinforced glass windows, illuminating the heavy mahogany desk and the broad tactical maps spread out across the central table.

Four people turn their heads as I enter.

At the head of the table stands my father. His face is weathered and stern, carved from decades of surviving the hardest streets in the country, his dark eyes sharp, calculating, and alert beneath his graying brow.

To his right stands Mayhem, his scarred hands resting flat on the edge of a detailed satellite map of the city’s industrial district.

Beside him, holding a tablet with live feeds from the perimeter, stands Jade, her expression sharp

and focused.

And standing between them, broad-shouldered, dominant, and unyielding, is Locke.

He turns immediately as the door opens, his eyes tracking my every step, his hard face softening just a fraction at the sight of me. He reaches out a hand as I approach the table, wrapping his warm, thick fingers around mine, pulling me gently to his side where I belong.

Dad looks down at the property deeds resting on the mahogany, right beside a satellite blueprint of the Night Howlers’ fentanyl production lab in the warehouse, then looks up at me.

“Sweetheart,” Dad says. “We were just waiting for you. It’s time to talk about how we take Grit and

Vane down.”

I look at the map spread across the wood, seeing the intricate overlay of supply routes, shipping docks, and structural layout lines. Jade steps closer, tapping a stylus against the screen of her

tablet.

“We’ve spent the morning cross-referencing Knox’s personal logs with the property titles you now own, Zara,” Jade says. “And it turns out that Apex Logistics isn’t just a chemical company providing

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what Knox and Vane need to make the fentanyl.”

“Yeah, I had a feeling they were way more involved than just driving the chemicals to the

warehouse.”

“And you were right,” Jade says. “The company is actually the central arterial vein for Vane’s entire drug distribution network across three states.”

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