Sunday — 9:17 a.m. — Razor Riders Compound, South Carolina
Edge's POV
“Prez, we've got a problem.”
Chain entered my office without knocking.
“What?”
“Three black SUVs at the gate. Six federal agents. They're demanding entry.”
“Demanding?”
“One of them told the prospect we're obstructing a federal investigation if we don't open the gate.”
I slowly set down my coffee.
“Did they identify themselves?”
“FBI. Lead agent says his name's Mercer. They're asking for Ava Sinclair.”
My jaw tightened.
“Get Morgan and True. Tell Cyber to verify their credentials before anybody opens that gate.”
“Already on it.”
My phone rang.
The prospect stationed at the entrance.
“Prez, the agent's threatening to have federal officers come back with a warrant.”
“Put him on.”
A moment later, an unfami
