“Terry—”
“No, you don’t understand. They’re watching. They’re always watching.” His voice rises, panic bleeding through. “I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I’m not strong enough. I’m not—”
“Terry.” I cut through his spiral. “Focus. We have what we need to end this. Together.”
I stride to the center of the room. The weak light catches dust motes swirling around us, making the air feel thick and oppressive. Heath’s nervous energy radiates across the space between us.
“The shipping manifests match,” I say, my voice cutting through his paranoid mumblings. “Three vessels, twelveports, hundreds of women. All connecting back to Montoni subsidiaries.”
Heath’s shoulders tighten. I press on, each word precise and sharp.
“My father’s signature on every document. And yours on some too, Terry.”
He flinches like I’ve struck him. “Do you know what he’ll do to me if he finds out I’m talking to you?” His voice cracks, fear bleeding through. “People disappear for less.”
“People are already disappearing, Terry.” Ice fills my tone as memories flash through my mind—faces in photographs, names in reports, bodies never found. “Journalists. Whistleblowers. This isn’t about what he’ll do to you. It’s about what he’s done to countless innocent lives.”
His hands shake as he lights a cigarette. The flame illuminates the sweat on his face and the wild look in his eyes.
“You’ve seen this firsthand,” I continue, taking a step closer. “Every document you signed, every container you cleared—you knew what was inside. Who was inside.”
“Shut up.” His voice rasps. “You don’t understand. Your father, he—”
“I understand perfectly.” My words slice through his excuses. “I understand that while you were signing papers, girls were dying. While you collected your bonuses, families were being destroyed.”
Heath hurls his cigarette down. “You think you’re so righteous? You grew up in his mansion, went to private schools, lived off his money—”
“And now I’m here to burn it all down.” My conviction fills the space between us. “Help me stop it.”
He laughs, a broken sound that echoes off the walls. “Stop it? You can’t stop him. No one can. He owns judges, politicians—”
“He owns you,” I cut in. “The question is, Terry, are you ready to break free? Or will you keep enabling his monsters?”
The silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of choice.
I take another step toward Heath, closing the distance between us. His fear is palpable, a living thing that makes the air thick and heavy. But beneath that fear, I see something else—a desperate need for absolution.
“You had access to everything we need,” I press, keeping my voice low but intense. “The encrypted files, shipping logs, internal memos. I need the originals. And I know you are clever enough to have backed up all the necessary information to protect yourself.”
Heath’s fingers drum against his thigh, a nervous rhythm that betrays his internal struggle. I lean in closer, letting my conviction fuel every word.
“If you testify, I can get you out of here. When everything is out in the open, plastered over the web, nobody will be able to touch you, not even Montoni.”
His hands shake as he studies the evidence spread before us. Sweat beads on his forehead despite the cool air. “Even if I testify, even if you get the files, I may be safe, but they’ll come after you, Eve. Montoni will never forgive this,” he whispers.
My jaw tightens. After years of investigation, of watching people disappear, of building this case piece by bloody piece, I’m done being afraid. “Let them try,” I reply, determination burning through my veins.
The tension crackles between us as Heath’s gaze darts between the exit and me. Each second stretches like hours as he wages his internal war. Finally, he releases a long, shuddering sigh. With trembling fingers, he pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.
“The files are on a secure server,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Offshore account details are here.” He holds out the paper, hesitating before releasing it into my grip. “But if you go after this…” His eyes meet mine, filled with a mixture of fear and resignation. “You’re painting a target on your back.”
I take the crumpled paper, my fingers brushing against Heath’s trembling hand. Something in his eyes makes me pause—a flicker of desperate guilt that sends warning signals through my body.
“Wait.” His voice cracks through the silence. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
The fluorescent light above us buzzes, casting harsh shadows across Heath’s face as he steps forward. Sweat gleams on his forehead, and his expensive suit seems to hang even more loosely on his frame.
“Montoni—” He swallows hard. “Your father found me weeks ago. He knew you’d come looking for me.”
