Chapter 8: The DA’s Office
The blue light of the laptop screen illuminated the dark motel room, casting long, hollow shadows across Claire’s face. She sat beside Marcus, staring at the endless rows of spreadsheets David had meticulously compiled before his death.
It was worse than either of them could have imagined.
The Hale Investment Firm wasn't just running a Ponzi scheme; they were a massive money-laundering operation for international cartels, shell corporations, and corrupt politicians. But the most damning tab on the spreadsheet was labeled ‘Local Expenditures.’
It was a bribe list.
Claire scrolled down, her eyes widening as she recognized name after name.
"Look at this," Claire pointed a trembling finger at the screen. "Judge Arthur Reynolds. Two million dollars deposited into an offshore account in the Caymans. He’s the family court judge who oversaw the Hale’s custody disputes."
"And he’s the one who would preside over your CPS case," Marcus noted grimly. "Eleanor had the judge bought and paid for before she even planted the bracelet. If you had gone to court, you would have lost Sophie in five minutes."
But the name that made Claire’s blood run truly cold was halfway down the page.
District Attorney Victor Vance - $5,000,000.
"Vance," Claire whispered. The CPS worker who had shown up at her apartment with the police was named Brenda Vance.
"The DA is Brenda's brother," Marcus explained, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. "The whole system in this city is rigged, Claire. You can't go to the police. You can't go to the FBI field office here—half of them are on Eleanor's payroll."
"Then what do we do with this?" Claire asked, gesturing to the laptop. "If we can't give it to the authorities, it’s useless."
"We don't give it to the authorities," Marcus said, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. "We give it to the press. The real press. Independent, ruthless, and hungry."
Marcus opened a secure browser and typed in a name. A web page loaded, displaying the banner of an independent investigative news outlet: The Daily Sentinel. At the top was a picture of a sharp-eyed woman with short dark hair.
"Julianne Vance?" Claire read the name, confused. "Another Vance?"
"The black sheep of the family," Marcus said. "Julianne is the DA's estranged daughter. She despises her father and has been trying to expose corruption in this city for a decade. She’s completely independent, funded by anonymous donors. She has millions of followers online."
"Can we trust her?"
"I served time with her primary informant," Marcus said. "She protects her sources with her life. If we give her this ledger, and the video of the assault on Sophie, she won't just write an article. She’ll broadcast it live on every platform she has. By the time Eleanor wakes up, the FBI out of Washington D.C. will be knocking on her door, not the local cops."
Claire looked at Sophie, who was shifting in her sleep, her small face peaceful. She had to end this. Tonight.
"Contact her," Claire said.
Marcus nodded, opening an encrypted email client. He typed a quick, coded message and hit send. "Now we wait. But she’s paranoid. If she agrees to meet, it’s going to be on her terms, and it’s going to be risky."
Ten minutes later, the laptop pinged. A single line of text appeared on the screen.
Pier 44. Old shipping yard. 3:00 AM. Come alone, or I walk.
Claire looked at the digital clock on the bedside table. It was 1:45 AM.
"I have to go," Claire said, standing up and grabbing her coat.
May you like
"Are you crazy?" Marcus argued, standing up to block her path. "You're a graphic designer, Claire, not a spy. You can't go to the docks at 3 AM by yourself."
"I have to," Claire insisted, her voice hard as steel. "You stay here and guard Sophie with your life. If I don't come back by sunrise... take her and run."
