The blinding floodlights bore down on them, hot and unforgiving. Marco’s men stood stiff and rooted to the spot, their hands raised in the air in surrender.

The walls of the facility echoed with the clatter of boots as armed officers stormed the factory floor.

“Hands where I can see them!” one of the cops barked.

The cuffs clicked shut around Marco’s wrists before he could even blink. He jerked against them, fury sparking in his eyes.

“You’ve got it wrong!” his voice rang out, sharp and desperate, cutting through the chaos. “This isn’t ours! The real culprits are the Kingstons. This is an illegal oil factory… they’re the ones...