Semua Bab In the Wake of Truth: Bab 71 - Bab 80

(Nathan’s POV)Michael kept his eyes fixed on the road, guiding the Mercedes SUV with practiced ease. The steady hum of the engine gave me a brief pause to sit with the words I had just spoken. Across from me, Director Packman sat upright, his gaze locked on the screen of his android device as if scanning through the day’s news.Yet I knew better; behind that calm focus was a man carrying more weight than most in the Bureau could comprehend.The drive carried us northward, away from the federal building and onto streets lined with trees whose leaves, just beginning to bronze for the season, caught the midday light with a faint glimmer. A low mist clung to the ground, softening the edges of the world like a brushstroke that never quite lost its wetness.“Mr. Frank,” Packman said suddenly, glancing at me, “I’ll need to be dropped off at Giana Golf Range. I have a string of private meetings with certain state politicians.Not the kind we put on the evening news, of course. Just conversat

(Jane’s POV)The unexpected call had long ended, yet my pulse hadn’t caught up.I sat motionless, the receiver still warm against my ear, the silence in my office so disturbing it left me with the feeling of being ridiculed.My thumb tapped unconsciously against my office desk, each beat too quick, too restless.Nathan’s voice lingered longer than it should.Not the Nathan who always paraded himself as ruthless and manipulative, but the one who, for the first time, admitted he was tired. The one whose voice carried the weight of a man whose carefully built structure was finally beginning to corrode from within.I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening on his end, and truthfully, it was no longer my business. This was the same man who had served me ruthless divorce papers while secretly having an affair with my own twin sister.He hadn’t shown even an atom of genuine regret, and he had been swift in discarding what I once believed we shared throughout our relationship and marriage.I s

(Jane's POV) “Jane.”Powell spoke with the tone of a man who had come unwillingly, and at the sound, my eyes flew open. I sat up straight in my chair.“Mr. Powell,” I managed, though my voice sounded steadier than the frantic beat of my pulse.He stepped inside, leaving the door half-closed, a familiar habit of his that usually implied both privacy and openness, though today it felt a bit off. Powell carried himself like a gentleman, cordial with all his employees, and I had never been an exception to that courtesy. His gaze moved across the room, lingering on the neatly piled up files on my desk before finally settling on me.“How far have you and the intern—Dorris, yes? gone with the compilation of the Chicago trip report I asked for earlier on?” His tone was brisk, but his eyes probed, studying me as though he was trying to understand whether I had been distracted or doing the job for which I was being handsomely paid.I blinked, forcing myself back into the present. “I asked D

(Nathan’s POV)Saturday mornings used to feel slower and peaceful.That was the first thought that crossed my mind as I stepped out of the bathroom, a white towel slung low around my waist, steam still clinging to my skin. The mirror had reflected a man who looked rested but wasn’t; eyes alert, jaw set, mind already several steps ahead of the new day.I put on my clothes quickly, habit more than urgency, and padded into the living room. The apartment felt hollow and unnervingly still, the kind that settles in only when life decides to place more weight on your shoulders than you’re prepared to bear.I picked up the remote and turned on the television.The screen flickered to life.“…will be arraigned in federal court four days from now,” the newscaster said smoothly, her voice sharp with practiced composure. “Luke Linderman, alleged drug kingpin and head of one of the largest crime syndicates in the Midwest, was apprehended over a week ago along with some of his main associates…”My

(Luke Linderman’s POV)“Not guilty.”The words left my mouth sharp and unyielding, cutting through the courtroom before the clerk had even finished reading the final charge. I gave no space for hesitation, no allowance for spectacle, only certainty and what felt like clarity to me.Beside me, Pedro swallowed hard.“State your plea,” the clerk repeated, eyes fixed on the paper in front of her.“Not guilty,” I said again, this time more slowly, each word coming out in a gentle fashion.Pedro followed. “N–not guilty,” he muttered, the tremor in his voice betraying what his face tried to conceal.Then Paschal, Keto, and Garry answered in turn, standing shoulder to shoulder beside him. Their voices were quieter, less steady, as if the weight of what those words truly meant had begun pressing against their chests.Four men who had once moved like extensions of me now sat shoulder to shoulder with me at the defense table, reduced to surnames on a federal docket.The courtroom felt colder and