Page 122 of Strays
Office opened: 8 months ago
Status: Closed
“After your report flagging the Frostbite operation reached the federal database, Aranya shut down his clinic. Same pattern: phones cut, lease pulled and staff gone.”
Will clicks again, and one name appears on the screen: Life Circle Biotech Group, LLC.
“This is where it gets interesting,” he continues. “The lease for Aranya’s clinic on Short Hills was in the name of this LLC. We traced it, and it owns a warehouse outside Port Newark, fifteen minutes from the TGH truck yard. No signage, no registered employees, but regular deliveries.”
The screen changes to shipping logs and freight records. Will continues: “Saline kits. IV sedatives. Portable thermal units. CO2 scrubbers.”
Shane leans forward. “That’s the prep clinic.”
Will nods. “That’s what we believe, but we can’t touch it. We drafted a search warrant, and DOJ legal flagged it. Said we don’t have probable cause. No judge is going to approve a federal raid on the warehouse, because the LLC isn’t tied to the Frostbite investigation. Not yet.”
He sets down the remote. “We also filed for medical subpoenas, but got stonewalled. Privacy laws, red tape, all the usual walls. But this time, the resistance felt... coordinated.”
Jordan Harris glances at Will, then at me. “This guy’s not just slippery. He’s protected.”
“Whoever he is, he’s not alone,” Will confirms. “Someone’s shielding him. Multiple someones. With money and reach enough to keep federal eyes off him.”
Now I believe it. Miles Aranya was the one who took my mother. He walked away untouched, and all these years later he’s still making women disappear.
Jay puts a hand on my shoulder. Doesn’t speak, just keeps it there.
I break the silence. “So what now?”
Will looks at me. “We keep going. Tracking his shell companies, watching for financial movement, trying to flip a TGH driver. Someone who can name him directly so we can tie him to the investigation. One person, one signature, that’s all we need to break this open."
He looks back at the screen. “But until then, we sit on our hands. Push too soon, and we torch the investigation, and ourselves.”
So, I have to hold back. Wait for us, or someone else, to find a breach big enough to bring him down. A wave of soothing pheromones rolls off my brothers. I breathe it in, deep and slow, trying to anchor myself. Trying not to stand up and lose control. Or worse, cry in front of every aegis in this goddamn room.
I must be wearing it on my face, because when I finally raise my head, every Solomon and Harris in the room is looking at me the same way.
Sympathy.
I hate it. I hate the way they pity me.
“Go to the gym,” Josh says. “Run. Then go home. Let your nyra take care of you.”
I stand without a word, my brothers silently rising with me.
We head for the gym. An hour later, I’m drenched in sweat, my lungs burn, but I’m more in control and ready to go home.
When Shane parks the Bronco in our garage, my plan is to head straight for a shower, but Jo’s in the living room. As soon as she sees me, her face crumples with worry. “What happened, Kory?”
I stop in my tracks. For a second, I think I’ll keep walking, get to thebathroom and lock the door. But I don’t. Instead, I turn toward her, cross the room and fold myself into her arms like I’m sinking. I cry, rage and grief tearing through me, stronger than the shame of falling apart in front of her.
A minute later, Jay and Shane step in, each taking one of my arms under the shoulder, steadying me. I think they’re afraid I’ll collapse on top of Jo.
They guide me to the couch, and she sits, pulling me down with her and guiding my head into her lap. She runs her fingers through my hair while I sob, and my brothers start to tell her everything we now know about Miles Aranya.
MEMORANDUM
TO: Deputy Commander Julius Eneas, Special Operations Command
FROM: Solomon Pack, Southern Connecticut Special Operations Garrison
