Clearly, there was enough blame to go around, and dwelling on that would solve nothing. The deed was done, and now the cat was out of the bag. The million-dollar question remained: What’s next?
The following morning, I returned to work like nothing had happened. I hadn’t sent an innocent man to jail. Well, he was hardly innocent—but you get the gist.
Later that day, the director called me into her office and asked me to take a seat. I did. I sat in the chair in front of her desk, my hands on my lap.
She stared at me for a moment before asking, “Agent Blake, is there something you wanna tell me?”
My breath hitched for a second, wondering if she’d somehow found out about the baby in my womb. However, I kept a straight face and answered, “No. Why do you ask?”
“You’ve been acting weird since you got back,” she said, reclining in her chair.
I scratched the back of my head and cleared my throat. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been through a lot and almost died on several occasions.” The image of myself falling into that pit came flashing into my head.
“I understand the trauma,” she answered. “I really do. But I need you to find comfort in the fact that you did the right thing.”
“Did I, though?”
She squinted her eyes, her head tilting to the side. “What do you mean? Because of you, all those girls are safe and are reunited with their families. That’s a win in my book.”
I said nothing, but the look in my eyes told her that I didn’t share her opinion.
She leaned in, elbows on the table. “Blair, tell me the truth: Do you feel guilty for putting him away?”
I clenched my jaw and let out a soft sigh. “I don’t know…. This just doesn’t feel right.”
“Oh, my God,” she grumbled under her breath, fingers plucking off her glasses. “He got to you, didn’t he?”
“I don’t—I don’t understand.”
“You developed some kind of sympathy for him because you saw a side of him that seemed human,” she went ahead to add, “Blair, listen to me: Nikolai Tarasov is a monster who has destroyed more lives than you can ever imagine. You did the world a favor by putting him away.”
“See, Director,thatis exactly the problem,” I said, gesturing with my hands. “We put him away, yes. But can you sit there and tell me the method we used wasn’t extreme?”
Silence.
I continued, “We framed him for crimes he didn’t commit. How are we any better than he is?”
“Maybe he’s not guilty of this one. But you and I both know he’s guilty of plenty more. Weapons. Racketeering. Extortion. Money laundering—you name them.” She let the words sink in for a moment. “His hands aren’t clean, Blair.”
I paused a bit, then murmured to myself, “Neither are ours.”
She heaved a sigh and put her glasses back on. “I understand your skepticism, Blair. But sometimes, to beat someone at their game, you have to play dirty.” She looked me straight in the eyes. “In case you’ve forgotten, this is war—and in war, we do anything to win. Anything.”
This was where I drew the line because, unlike Director Voss, I wasn’t willing to part with my humanity just to bring down a criminal. The fact that the Bureau was ready to doanything and cross any line to bring down men like Nik was proof that they were exactly what they claimed to fight against.
Martha Voss knew that he was innocent of these crimes; I told her everything. I told her that he was there to save me. Nothing more, nothing less.
She knew Richard Kane was a human trafficker and also knew that I was the one who killed him. But she chose to change the narrative and pin it all on Nikolai Tarasov.
She did that because we didn’t have enough evidence of the other crimes he was involved in. This was the only way she could trap him, and she already had our people working tirelessly to tie everything to him.
“I need you to pull yourself together, Agent Blake,” she said, her voice shifting from soft to professional. “Because you’ll testify against him in court.”
“What?”
She continued, ignoring my shock. “You will tell the judge how Nikolai Tarasov kidnapped you and the other girls and turned you into sex workers.”
“But Director—” I tried to object, but she wouldn’t have it.
