He scanned further, looking for any follow-up on that note. There was none. The first detective, Alex Corbin, was transferred two months later—cleanup. A separate note, paper-clipped to the back, listed the reporter’s name: Ben Cross. Cross had left the Tribune abruptly six months later.
Another name jumped out: Luis Rivera. Lead detective. Retired, but still alive.
He grabbed his phone and dialed Luc.
“Yeah?”
“I’m digging into a cold case,” Tonio said, bypassing a greeting. “The Valencia disappearance. 1998.”
A pause. “Valencia… the drowned girl? That was a dead end.”
“It was buried,” Tonio corrected. “The lead detective was Luis Rivera. I need you to find him.”
Another pause. “That’s a long time to dig up a ghost. How does a drowned girl connect to the senator?”
“Young was in the last photo taken of her. Then she vanished. The case was closed within a week.” Tonio let the implication hang. “Rivera’s name is sensitive. If he was paid off, your people can trace the money. If he was threatened, he might talk if he knows it’s you asking.”
“I’ll get someone on it,” Luc said, and the line went dead.
[CHIME: Marco]
Got eyes on the senator’s fixer. He’s jumpy. Time to squeeze?
If Marco said he was nervous, he was. His talent was reading the street-level whispers everyone else missed.
“Push him,” Tonio typed. “But make it look like bad luck. Not us. A panicked fixer makes mistakes.”
He switched screens. Wraith’s latest decryption glowed—a single, flagged transaction from “Omni Holdings” to a Caymanaccount. The senator buried his trails, but everyone makes a mistake. Eventually.
[CHIME: Marco]
Got an opening. The chief of staff meets a lobbyist at The Savino every Thursday. Want me to get close?
Tonio considered the risk. The chief of staff, Alistair Finch, was the gatekeeper. A wire could reveal not just the senator’s plans, but who else in the political machine was complicit. But if Marco was made, it would blow the entire operation wide open.
“Too risky,” Tonio replied. “Plant a listener. We don’t need them to see us coming.”
He leaned back, staring at the map. The pieces were in motion: Marco on the fixer and the wire, Wraith on the money, Luc on the detective. They had the players and the financial stain. But Maria Valencia was the key. If Rivera admitted the case was sabotaged, that photo wasn’t just a connection—it was a motive. This wouldn’t be a corruption scandal; it would be a murder investigation.
The coffee was cold and bitter, but he drank it anyway. He stood, his chair scraping back, and paced to the window. Nothing but rain and empty streets. He checked the security feeds again, even though he’d done it five minutes ago.
His eyes drifted to the room where Sofia slept. The photo of Maria Valencia stared back from his screen—a stark warning of what happened to those who got too close to Randal Young.
He traced the outline of her smile in the grainy photo, imagining the fear that must have curled inside her, the hope that someone would notice, the silence that had consumed her.
He shut the laptop, the click final in the silent room. Tonio grabbed the keys. They both needed air. The drive would clear their heads—and remind him exactly what he couldn’t let happen again.
Not to Sofia.
Not this time.
Tonio pulledout of the safehouse driveway, his eyes already scanning the empty road. He’d scouted this route twice. The overlook was county land nobody cared about anymore, its maintenance budget cut a decade ago. No cameras. No foot traffic. Just a bench, a view of the valley, and a single escape route. He felt the tension ease slightly as the car rolled past familiar landmarks, the monotony of the route lulling some of the day’s pressure out of his shoulders.
Sofia sat stiffly beside him, hands clenched in her lap. The safehouse was starting to feel like a cell. She needed air; he needed to prove he could give it. He stole glances at her, noting the faint tension around her jaw, the way her fingers drummed lightly on the seat.
“Where are we going?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
“Somewhere open,” he said, eyes on the road. “Where nothing can sneak up on us.”
