LOGINThe location came through at one PM. Not a restaurant. Not a law office.The Plaza Hotel. Fifth Avenue. Presidential suite."She's being theatrical," Santos said through my earpiece. "Showing off. Proving she's untouchable."I arrived with Dante and two FBI agents. They swept the hallway. Checked for weapons. Found nothing."We'll be right outside," Dante said. "Any trouble, we come in."I nodded. Knocked on the suite door.A man answered. Security. Professional. Cold. Searched me for weapons. Recording devices. Found the wire immediately."Ms. Whitmore said no recording."I pulled it off. Handed it over. "Tell Catherine I'm here."He disappeared. Returned moments later. "She'll see you now."The suite was massive. Floor to ceiling windows. Manhattan skyline spreading below. Expensive furniture. Art on the walls.Catherine Cross sat by the window. Afternoon light making her look almost angelic.She wore cream. Pearls. Hair perfectly styled. Looked like she was hosting a charity lunche
Catherine's lawyer arrived at the loft the next morning. Uninvited. Unannounced.Dante tried to stop him at the door. "You can't just show up here."The lawyer handed him a card. "James Morrison. Morrison and Associates. I represent Catherine Whitmore. She asked me to deliver a message to Ms. Winters personally."I came to the door. Marcus beside me. "What message?"Morrison was sixties. Silver hair. Expensive suit. The kind of lawyer who charged a thousand dollars an hour."May I come in? This conversation requires privacy.""Anything you say to me can be said in front of them."Morrison glanced at Dante. At Marcus. "Very well. My client wishes to meet with you. Privately. Just the two of you. No lawyers. No law enforcement. No recording devices.""Why would I agree to that?""Because she has information you want. About your mother. About your kidnapping. About what really happened twenty-two years ago."My chest tightened. "I know what happened. Victor kidnapped me. My mother died s
Santos arrived at the loft the next morning with a thick file."We know who Catherine Cross is now. Her current identity. What she's been doing all these years."He spread photos across the table. Woman in her late fifties. Elegant. Perfectly styled gray hair. Expensive clothes. Warm smile.She looked like someone's grandmother. Not a killer."Catherine Cross is currently living as Catherine Whitmore. Philanthropist. Socialite. Board member of seven charities. Donor to hospitals, museums, children's organizations.""She hides behind charity work?""Not just hides. Uses it. The charities are fronts. Money laundering operations. Donations come in, get cleaned, flow to Covenant operations. It's brilliant. No one questions a charity. Especially one run by someone so respectable."He showed me more photos. Catherine at galas. Shaking hands with politicians. Receiving humanitarian awards."She's fifty-eight. Never married. No children. Lives in a penthouse on Fifth Avenue. Estimated net wor
The name on the document made my hands shake.Catherine Chen.I stared at it. Blinked. Read it again."Catherine Chen received payment from Meridian Holdings?" My voice came out wrong. Too high. Too tight.Dr. Chen nodded. "Fifty thousand dollars. Three months after your kidnapping. Wired to an offshore account in her name.""Mrs. Chen died six months ago. Her daughter donated five million to the foundation in her memory. This has to be a mistake.""That's what I thought too," Dr. Chen said. "So I investigated further. Catherine Chen who received this payment wasn't the same Catherine Chen who died recently.""Then who was she?"Dr. Chen pulled up more documents. Birth certificates. Death certificates. Identity records."The Catherine Chen connected to Meridian Holdings was born in 1965. Died in 2018. Never married. No children. She worked as a corporate accountant for various shell companies.""So a different person with the same name?""Not exactly." Dr. Chen's expression darkened.
Victor's murder changed everything.The Wolf had killed him in a federal hospice with FBI agents outside. That level of access, that level of boldness, meant one thing: The Wolf was someone with serious power.Santos called three days after the autopsy results. "We need to talk. Not at FBI headquarters. Somewhere completely off the grid.""Why?""Because if The Wolf has access to federal facilities, they might have access to our offices. Our phones. Our systems. We can't trust anything."We met at an abandoned warehouse in Red Hook. Dante swept it for bugs. Marcus checked every entrance. Santos brought two agents he'd known for twenty years. People he trusted absolutely.The warehouse was cold. Empty. Concrete floors. Broken windows. Perfect for secrets.Santos spread files on a makeshift table. "Victor's death wasn't random. The paralytic used was military grade. Restricted access. Only certain people could get it.""Who?""Government contractors. Military personnel. High-level medic
Morning came too slowly. I'd barely slept, Victor's words repeating endlessly.*I know who The Wolf is.*At eight AM, Marcus, Dante, and I drove to Serenity Hospice. Santos met us there with two FBI agents."We've swept the building," Santos said. "No surveillance devices. No Covenant members in the area. It's as secure as we can make it.""That's not very reassuring.""It's the best we have."We entered together. The hospice was quiet. Sterile smell. Hushed voices. Death waiting patiently in every room.Victor's room was at the end of the hall. A nurse stood outside."He's awake. But weak. Don't tire him out."I entered first. Marcus and Santos behind me.Victor looked worse than yesterday. Gray skin. Labored breathing. The cancer winning fast.But his eyes were alert. Focused."You came.""You said you'd tell me who The Wolf is.""I will. But first, I need to know Sienna and Sofia are safe."Santos stepped forward. "They're in a federal safe house. Undisclosed location. Armed guards
The next morning, Santos called with news."Flynn's lawyer filed paperwork. He's officially withdrawing his plea deal. He'll face life without parole and testify against everyone. No immunity. No reduced sentence. Just cooperation.""Why?" I asked."His lawyer claims Flynn wants to show remorse. Pr
We arrived at the federal detention center at nine forty-five. Fifteen minutes early.The building was concrete and steel. Windows like narrow slits. Everything designed to keep people in.Santos met us at the entrance. "Flynn's in interrogation room three. He's agreed to full recording. No lawyers
I couldn't go back to the penthouse. Not yet. Not with Flynn waiting, expecting explanations I couldn't give without exposing that I knew everything.I sat in my car outside the storage facility. Boxes loaded in the trunk. And realized I had nowhere to go.No friends left after three years of isola
I woke up to the smell of coffee and voices in the kitchen.For a disoriented moment, I didn't know where I was.Then it came back. Marcus's loft. Safety. Allies.I checked my phone. Twenty-three missed calls from Flynn. Fifteen texts escalating from concerned to angry to threatening.The last one,







