Make them scramble before we show our full hand. Panic makes people careless. Jennifer was already typing, building a digital trail of evidence that pointed directly to the hidden beneficiaries of Greg Sanders’ empire.
I can use encrypted networks to drop files anonymously to journalists we trust. But the minute the first leak hits, they’ll start tracing us. Klein checked the perimeter cameras.
Then we make them think we’re somewhere else. Reddick grinned, his deep voice cutting through the tension. Already rigged a few surprises along the old highway.
If they come sniffing, they’ll be chasing ghosts. Anna sat quietly at a desk, drawing. Her picture showed a group of stick figures holding hands under a huge sun, with the words, we win, because we’re good, scrawled in crayon.
When she looked up, her face was serious. Mr. E. Will they be mad when you tell the truth? Ethan knelt beside her. Yes, they’ll be very mad.
She thought for a moment, then asked. Will they hurt you again? He hesitated. They might try.
But you know what? The truth’s stronger than they are. Anna nodded solemnly, as if she understood the cost of courage. Then I’ll pray triple tonight.
The first leak went out that evening. Jennifer sent a packet of documents to a handful of journalists under a secure signature emails, connecting a congressman to off-the-books donations routed through Greg’s company. Within hours, the story broke.
The headlines screamed, Sanders scandal expands. New evidence links political figures to offshore funds. The next morning, talk shows buzzed.
Denials, deflections, and outrage filled the airwaves. Within hours, two committee members resigned, citing health reasons. Ellis smirked at the television.
That’s panic, but the celebration was short-lived. Around noon, Reddick’s motion sensors went off. We’ve got company.
He barked, checking the monitors. A black SUV approached from the access road. Too polished, too deliberate.
Klein cursed. Feds are fakes. Plates are government, Reddick said.
But that doesn’t mean they’re ours. Torres’s voice suddenly came through Ethan’s phone, sharp and urgent. Walker, where are you? Get out of there now.
The Bureau’s been compromised. Someone leaked your location. Before Ethan could respond, the warehouse lights flickered.
A spotlight swept across the wall. Loudspeakers crackled outside. This is federal property.
Step out with your hands up. Ellis’s jaw tightened. That’s not Torres’s team.
They wouldn’t announce it. Reddick back exit, Klein shouted. They moved fast, grabbing drives and documents.
Anna clutched her stuffed bear. Wide-eyed but silent as Loretta carried her, Ethan scooped up the last of the hard drives and glanced back just as a concussion blast shook the front doors. Go, go, go, Reddick yelled.
Covering them as they dashed into the rain, they dove into the truck, tires spinning through the mud. Behind them, the warehouse erupted in flames, a blinding orange bloom that lit the trees. Jennifer looked back, face pale.
Everything’s gone. Ethan shook his head. Not everything.
He held up the encrypted drive. The real files are here. The rest were decoys.
They drove for hours, switching routes, avoiding main roads. Finally, they stopped at an abandoned motel off I-83. Inside, the air smelled of dust and mildew, but it was shelter.
Reddick checked the windows, muttering curses under his breath. Ellis paced the floor, furious. They’re using federal assets to do corporate cleanup.
That means someone inside Justice is compromised. Maybe multiple someones. Jennifer stared at the laptop she’d salvaged.
We can’t send files now. They’ll trace any signal we use. Ethan rubbed his temples.
Then we go old school. Hand delivery. To who? Cline asked.
Ethan looked up, eyes clear. To the one journalist they can’t buy. Henry Walsh.
Jennifer’s father. Jennifer froze. You can’t.
He’s retired. And he hates politics. He hates corruption more, Ethan said softly.
And if I’m right, he’s the only one with the connections to publish this without it disappearing. Jennifer’s shoulders dropped. If we go to him, there’s no turning back.
There’s no turning back anyway, Ethan said. The next morning, they drove toward New York under heavy fog. Anna slept in the back seat, her small hand wrapped around Loretta’s.
Cline kept a watchful eye on the mirrors. Reddick followed in a separate car, a shotgun across his knees. When they reached Henry Walsh’s cabin outside the Catskills, it was nearly dusk.
Jennifer hesitated before knocking. The door opened before she could. Her father stood there tall, silver-haired, skeptical.
Jenny, he said. You only show up when the world’s on fire. It is, she answered.
Henry’s eyes flicked to Ethan. You’re the fallen billionaire, the bridge guy. That’s me, Ethan said.
But I’d rather be remembered for standing back up. Henry studied him for a moment, then sighed. Come in before someone shoots you on my porch.
Inside, the cabin smelled of wood smoke and ink. Papers and old news clippings covered the walls, decades of stories that had exposed mayors, CEOs, even mob bosses. Jennifer placed the encrypted drive on the table.
This one’s bigger than anything you’ve covered. Henry leaned over it, eyes narrowing. Bigger how? Ethan met his gaze.
It’s not just about fraud. It’s about how money bought silence. Justice and policy.
If this dies in the shadows, we all lose. Henry was quiet for a long time. Then he reached for his old tape recorder.
Tell me everything, he said. Hours passed as Ethan, Jennifer, and Ellis recounted the web of corruption, the murder attempts, the government leaks. Henry took notes, asking sharp, surgical questions.
When they finished, he exhaled slowly. This will burn cities, he said. You understand that? Ethan nodded.
Then maybe it’s time something burned. Henry smiled faintly, the kind of smile only old journalists carried. You sound like me 30 years ago.
I’m in s- He stood, walked to a dusty typewriter, and set a blank page in place. All right, Mr. Walker, let’s make them sweat. Outside, night settled over the cabin.
In the distance, headlights flickered on the far road. Reddick’s radio crackled. Movement.
Three vehicles. No plates. Coming this way.
Ethan’s heart kicked once. He looked at Henry. We’re out of time.
The headlights carved through the mist, slicing across the cabin walls like white blades. Ethan froze, listening to the crunch of tires on gravel. Three vehicles.
Maybe more. The night was silent except for the rhythmic hiss of rain. Reddick’s voice came low through the radio.
They’re fanning out. Tactically trained. Not feds private, Ellis swore under his breath.
They’re going to burn this place down with us in it. Henry set his coffee down, eyes narrowing. You brought hell to my doorstep, didn’t you? Jennifer’s voice shook, but her hands didn’t.
Dad, they’ll kill us before they let this story out. Henry looked at Ethan. You got a way out? Ethan glanced at the narrow hallway leading to the back door.
There’s an old logging trail behind the ridge. If we get to the tree line, we can lose them in the forest. Reddick’s voice crackled again…
