Chapter 32 – The Breaking Point
The encrypted line buzzed with static, the connection crackling as Ibrahim stared at the screen in front of him. The broker's last message had shifted the ground beneath his feet. A judge? A high-ranking official on the payroll of the Court of Owls? This was the kind of leverage he needed, but it came with a catch.
Montoya stood at his side, eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You're really going to trust this guy?"
Ibrahim didn't answer right away. His mind was already sifting through the possibilities. If this broker was legitimate, they had just given him the key to destroy everything the Court had built. But trusting them was another story. Every instinct screamed that this could be a trap.
"I'm not trusting him," Ibrahim said, his voice cold. "I'm using him. He's desperate, and desperate people are more useful than they realize. But this"—he gestured at the data on the screen—"changes everything. The judge is a piece of the puzzle I didn't know existed."
Montoya leaned in, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she took in the details of the transaction record. "It's all right there. A paper trail that ties them to the Court, to the corruption."
Ibrahim's fingers hovered over his comms system, preparing to make the call that could either solidify his position or destroy everything he had built.
"Get me a secure line to Black Mask. We need to move fast."
Montoya shot him a questioning glance. "You're going to bring him in on this?"
"He'll have no choice," Ibrahim replied, his eyes locked on the data. "He's been sitting on the edge of this fight for too long. I've given him enough power to make him think he controls the situation, but he's just a pawn in this game. The Court has been the real power. Now, we flip that. We take them down from the inside out."
Montoya didn't say anything more, but Ibrahim could see the doubt in her eyes. She understood what was at stake, but she also knew how dangerous this could be. Black Mask was unpredictable, a wild card in an already chaotic scenario.
The line clicked, and Ibrahim's voice was low as he spoke. "Black Mask, this is Al-Farooq. I've got something you're going to want to see."
A long pause followed, then the unmistakable gravelly voice of Black Mask came through the comms. "You're playing with fire, Al-Farooq. What's so important that it couldn't wait?"
Ibrahim's lips curled into a tight smile. "It's time to burn the Court. I've got a judge—someone who's been in their pocket for years. I've got proof. We can bring down the whole network."
Black Mask didn't respond immediately, but Ibrahim could hear the tension in the air. This was the moment of truth. He'd either secure an ally or unleash chaos.
"Alright," Black Mask finally said. "Send me everything. But remember—this isn't a favor. You make a move against the Court, and it's on you. There's no going back."
"I'm not making a move," Ibrahim replied, his tone steady. "We're making a war."
The call ended abruptly, and Ibrahim sat back, allowing himself a rare moment of calm. His heart pounded, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he glanced at Montoya. She met his gaze, her expression unreadable.
"You know what this means, right?" she asked softly. "The Court isn't going to sit back and let you dismantle them. You've just put a target on your back that even the Talons can't ignore."
Ibrahim's eyes flashed with determination. "They're not going to stop me. Not this time."
The next hours were a whirlwind of activity. Ibrahim sent the full transaction logs to Black Mask, along with all the supporting evidence he had accumulated. As they waited, Ibrahim ran simulations, analyzing every move, every contingency. The Court was too big, too powerful to be taken down with one move, but it could be chipped away—piece by piece.
Soon, the messages came back. Black Mask had mobilized his forces, targeting the judge's offices and his financial holdings. The walls were closing in. But Ibrahim wasn't satisfied. Not yet.
"What are we missing?" Montoya asked as they pored over the information again, searching for the final piece.
Ibrahim leaned forward, his mind racing. He'd pieced together the financials, but something didn't sit right. There was a detail in the judge's record—a meeting with someone high up in the Court, someone Ibrahim hadn't accounted for.
He scrolled back through the data, the pieces falling into place. A name—a familiar name—surfaced, hidden in plain sight.
"The Broker," Ibrahim muttered under his breath. "They've been playing both sides."
Montoya frowned. "You think they're double-crossing you?"
"I don't think," Ibrahim replied grimly. "I know. The Broker gave me just enough to get the Court rattled. But they're in bed with them—working both ends. They want to control the fallout, make sure they come out on top no matter who falls."
Montoya cursed under her breath, slamming her fist against the table. "So, we've been set up."
"No," Ibrahim said, his voice colder than before. "We've been used. But now we turn the tables."
He quickly began drafting a message. "It's time to send the Broker a little reminder of who's in charge."
The game had changed. And now, Ibrahim Al-Farooq wasn't just playing the Court. He was hunting the predator that had been pulling the strings in the shadows.
The Broker had made their move. Now, it was Ibrahim's turn.
To Be Continued…