Chapter 82

Like a persistent voice, the buzzing of the fluorescent light above me repeated the annoyance that was building inside me. I gazed at the pile of papers arranged on the inexpensive motel table, each one a lead that was actually a dead end. What did I have after hours of wiretaps and weeks of surveillance? Nothing serious. Only shards, whispers, and shadows that would not form.

My train of thought was broken as my phone vibrated. Ben Fisher was the name printed on the screen.

"Ben," I said in a hard tone. "Tell me you have something."

The other end stopped long enough for me to tighten my grip on the phone.

Ben paused before saying, "I might have something." He spoke in a low voice, nearly drowned by background noise, most likely from a bar. "But you won't enjoy it."

The metal legs of the chair creaked under my weight as I leaned back. "I don't feel like playing games right now. Leak it."

Ben let out a sigh. "You see, Ethan's paranoia is growing every day. He's keeping his thoughts to himself. If something big happens, I'm no longer part of the inner circle."

I was getting impatient, and my tone reflected it. "Ben, you're meant to be my inside guy. Why are we having this talk if you're of no benefit to me?"

"I'm trying!" he replied. "However, Ethan is no moron. He knows someone is watching him."

I squeezed the bridge of my nose and let out a quick breath. "All right. What have you got?"

Ben seemed to be shifting in his seat, as proven by the rustling sound. "He's been getting to know someone. I've never seen this guy before. Always off the books, always late at night. It seems dubious, even for Ethan."

I straightened my stance and felt my heart quicken. "Who is he?"

"I have no idea. However, I'll continue to dig."

"You'd better," I noted gloomily. "Because you'll regret it if I find out you're holding back."

Ben stayed silent, and the call ended. The weight of the chat hung over me like a thick mist as I flung the phone onto the table.

Almost midnight had passed when the email arrived. I didn't recognize the sender's name: Gerard. No last name. Only Gerard.

"Critical Information About Ethan Monroe" was the subject line.

Since anonymous recommendations were usually garbage, I followed my gut and deleted it. However, something made me stop. I opened it and read the short message:

"I am aware of what Ethan is concealing. I am also aware of Victor. Let's have a conversation."

Victor. I was completely stunned at the name. My fingers lingered over the keyboard while suspicion and confusion fought for control of my thoughts.

I was unaware of Victor's name. Neither the monitoring nor any of the files had mentioned the name. It was the first rift in the wall Ethan had so meticulously built around himself, if this was a genuine lead. Without knowing more, I couldn't afford to fall for a fake if it was a setup.

I took a long look at the email before choosing Reply:

"Who are you? What are you aware of?"

It was quicker than I thought it would be, as if Gerard had been expecting it.

"Please meet me on Level 3 of the Oakwood parking garage. Tomorrow at midnight. Come by yourself."

My entire alarm system went off at once. It was too particular to ignore, but it also screamed trap. Gerard, whomever he was, had some knowledge. I also needed clarity.

The following day seemed to drag on like a nightmare in slow motion. I kept thinking about the name Victor. Who was he? What did he have to do with Ethan? I searched the files and went through my notes, but I couldn't find anything. If Victor ever lived, he had left no trace. He was a ghost.

My footsteps echoed off the concrete floor, the sole sound in the almost deserted parking area. The flickering overhead lights made lengthy, unsettling shadows in the poorly lit Level 3.

As I got closer to the meeting place, I kept one hand on my holstered handgun. I looked into every nook and corner of the dimly lit room. I wasn't going down without a fight if this was a plan.

A silhouette came from the darkness. Tall, wearing a dark coat, with a hat brim hiding part of his face.

With a smooth and relaxed voice, the man said, "Richards. My name is Gerard."

I stated in a firm voice, "You have one minute to convince me that this isn't a waste of my time."

Gerard gave a quiet, nearly amused laugh. "All right. First, let's talk about Victor."

I concealed my confusion by crossing my arms. "How about him?"

With a tilt of his head, Gerard examined me as if I were a riddle he was trying to answer. "Interesting. You're not sure, are you?"

I gritted my teeth, not wanting to show anything. "Why don't you tell me?"

Gerard stepped forward, his face unreadable. "Victor Alvarez. Do you know this name?"

I was slapped with the name. I scarcely knew the name Alvarez. Nothing had ever been confirmed, but there were rumors that he was involved with organized crime. I had thought he was a little player who had nothing to do with Ethan.

"Keep talking," I urged, keeping a steady tone despite the mental turbulence.

Gerard grinned, but it was not noticeable. "The secret to everything is Victor. It eventually boils down to Ethan, Monroe Enterprises, and the entire business."

The ground underneath me moved. I had been waiting for this break, if Gerard was telling the truth. If he was lying, though...

"Why are you telling me this?" I stared as I asked. "What's your point?"

Gerard grinned broadly. "I have my motives, let's say. Later, you'll thank me."

My phone buzzed in my pocket before I could press him any further. I stopped and looked at the screen. An email sent by an unnamed sender.

"Evidence Against Ethan Monroe" was the topic.

As I studied the contents of the attachment, I felt sick to my stomach. Ethan is linked to a recent high-profile crime by pictures, documents, and timestamps. It was nearly too beautiful-damning.

My thoughts were racing as I turned back to Gerard. "What on earth is this?"

Gerard's face stayed unchanged. "Think of it as a little prod in the right direction."

I wasn't sure if I should be angry or thankful. One thing was certain, though: I was running out of time, and the game had suddenly changed.