Page 8 of For Vengeance

Nothing seemed amiss, but that didn't mean danger wasn't present. Cordell was too good, his network too extensive, for simple precautions to offer real security. Morgan knew they were exposed here, vulnerable in ways they couldn't fully anticipate or prevent.

They took the elevator up to the fourteenth floor in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. The familiar ding as the doors opened onto the field office was oddly comforting—a reminder that despite everything, some routines remained unchanged.

Assistant Director Mueller was waiting for them in the briefing room, his imposing figure silhouetted against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. At sixty-two, Mueller remained physically intimidating—six-foot-four with broad shoulders and a military bearing that commanded respect. His salt-and-pepper mustache twitched with annoyance as they entered, a sure sign that whatever case he had for them was urgent enough to disrupt his own schedule.

"Before we get to the case," Morgan said, closing the door behind them, "there's something you need to know." She met Mueller's gaze directly. "Cordell paid me a visit last night. In my home."

Mueller's expression darkened, the lines around his eyes deepening with concern. He glanced at the closed door, then moved further away from it, gesturing for them to follow.

"He showed himself?" The question came out as a near whisper, revealing just how significant this development was. "After months of operating through proxies and cutouts, he came to you directly?"

Morgan nodded, then recounted the encounter in detail—Cordell's effortless breach of her security, his ultimatum, the threat against Derik, his demand for her father. She watched Mueller's face as she spoke, noting the subtle shifts in his expression, the tightening around his eyes when she mentioned Cordell's knowledge of her father.

"Did he mention me?" Mueller asked, tension evident in the set of his jaw. "Does he know we're working together?"

Morgan shook her head firmly. "No. He had no clue who in the FBI might be helping me. That's our one saving grace right now—he knows I have support inside the Bureau, but not specifically who." She paused, letting the significance of that sink in. "He focused entirely on my father and Derik. Didn't mention anyone else by name or implication."

Relief flickered briefly across Mueller's face before his professional mask returned. His family's safety was his primary concern, the reason he'd sent them abroad when he first decided to help Morgan build a case against Cordell.

"This is a serious escalation," Mueller said, his voice grim. He moved to the window, looking out over the city as if searching for threats among the gleaming skyscrapers. "For him to show his face, to make direct contact after staying in the shadows so long... he must feel either very confident or very desperate."

"Or both," Derik added. "Men like Cordell don't make moves without calculating every angle."

Mueller's reflection in the glass showed a man deeply troubled. He had put his own career at risk by believing Morgan, by helping her build a case against Cordell. The fact that Cordell hadn't identified him specifically offered small comfort, but they all knew it was likely only a matter of time.

"I'll make some calls, see if we can set up another sting operation," Mueller said, turning back to face them. "In the meantime, you both need to be extraordinarily careful." He paused, tension visible in the set of his shoulders. "And your father needs to go deeper underground. If Cordell's making his move now, he might have information we don't."

Morgan nodded, though the thought of her father disappearing completely sent a spike of anxiety through her chest. They'd lost forty years already; the idea of losing contact again, even temporarily, was almost unbearable.

"I can't emphasize enough how dangerous this moment is," Mueller continued, moving back to the table. "Cordell wouldn't show himself unless he felt the endgame approaching. He's calculated every move, positioned all his pieces." His voice dropped lower. "You need to be prepared for anything from any direction."

The warning hung in the air, heavy with implications none of them wanted to voice aloud. They all knew what Cordell was capable of—the reach of his influence, the ruthlessness of his methods. Thomas Grady's murder had demonstrated that Cordell could strike anywhere, at any time, with deadly precision.

"Now," Mueller said, his tone shifting to formal briefing mode, "we have a homicide that's raising alarm bells downtown." He moved to the table and slid a file folder toward them. "Marcus Rodriguez, a well-known drug dealer operating out of Santiago Heights. Found dead in his apartment last night, single gunshot to the back of the head, execution-style."

Morgan opened the file, her trained eyes scanning the crime scene photos. Rodriguez slumped over a table, blood pooled beneath him, drug paraphernalia scattered around the apartment. Standard drug-related homicide at first glance—the kind that would typically be handled by local police, not warranting federal attention.

"What makes this one special?" she asked, looking up from the gruesome images.

Mueller's expression tightened. "This." He pulled a plastic evidence bag from the folder, containing a handwritten letter. "Found at the scene. Handwriting confirmed to be Rodriguez's. Written moments before his death."

Morgan examined the letter through the clear plastic. It appeared to be a confession, detailing Rodriguez's crimes in shaky handwriting that suggested extreme duress. The pen had dug deep into the paper in places, nearly tearing through it—a sign of the force applied either by Rodriguez himself in his fear, or by his killer forcing his hand.

"Forced confession," she murmured, recognizing the pattern instantly from previous cases. "Someone made him write this before killing him."

"Precisely," Mueller confirmed. "And this is the second such killing in two weeks. Same signature."

Derik leaned forward, now fully engaged. "Second victim?"

"Anthony Rivera," Mueller replied, sliding another photo across the table. "Sex offender. Served time for voyeurism, apparently back to his old habits after release. Found executed in his home, same MO—single shot to the back of the head after being forced to write out a confession of his crimes."

Morgan's mind was already analyzing the pattern, the methodology, constructing a preliminary profile of their unsub. "Serial vigilante," she said, thinking aloud. "Targeting criminals, forcing them to confess before execution. Judge, jury, and executioner rolled into one."

"And with at least one more victim likely in the pipeline," Derik added, his expression grim. "This kind of killer rarely stops at two."

Mueller nodded. "That's our working theory. Dallas PD reached out after connecting the cases. Given the methodical nature and the clear pattern emerging, they thought we might want to get involved before this escalates further."

Morgan continued studying the crime scene photos, noting the precise placement of the body, the clean execution, the meticulous arrangement of the confession in front of the victim. Everything about it spoke of planning, control, and a strong sense of purpose.

---