“It’snice to meet you, Selena,” Supervisory Special Agent Clement says when Keven ushers us into his superior’s office a short while later. “Although I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances.” He extends his arm to me, and I shake his hand.
“And you must be Keanu,” the SSA says, and Keanu nods. “The family resemblance is striking.”
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, sir.” Keanu shakes his hand while keeping one arm locked around my waist.
“Please take a seat.” He gestures toward a black leather couch at the other side of the room.
Keanu and I sit down on the couch while the SSA and Keven take two of the three chairs in front of us.
“We usually conduct these meetings in an interview room, but Sinead thought a more relaxed environment might suit better.”
“Sinead, Agent Cunningham, is one of my colleagues,” Keven explains. “She should be here any second now.”
A sharp knock on the door heralds her arrival just as the words leave Keven’s lips.
A slim woman in a gray pantsuit enters the room. Her dark hair is cut into an angular bob, framing a heart-shaped face and button nose. Her hips sway as she strides confidently to where we’re sitting. She stops in front of me, placing a brown paper folder on the coffee table before extending her hand. “I’m Sinead. I’ll be working on the investigation with Keven.”
“I’m Selena, and this is Keanu.” I take her hand, hoping she doesn’t notice how badly I’m shaking.
“Thank you both for dropping by. I know this must be nerve-wracking,” she says, sitting beside Keven. “But I want to reassure you anything you tell us will be treated with the utmost privacy. Our team has been working hard these past eighteen months to bring these criminals down, but we keep meeting roadblocks. We’re hoping you might have some intel that will help us to break the case.”
“I’m not sure that I do, but I’ll tell you all I can.” I clasp my necklace, tracing my fingers back and forth across the cold metal.
“Sometimes, even the smallest detail can matter,” Keven says. “Some of these guys are already on our radar, but your knowledge could make all the difference.”
Keanu takes my free hand, squeezing it firmly, and a layer of stress lifts off my shoulders.
“I thought it might be helpful to outline some of the background before we discuss the specifics of your case,” the SSA says.
“Okay.” I wet my dry lips, willing my heart to stop careening around my chest.
“If you need to take a break at any time, just let us know,” Keven says, reassuring me with his eyes.
Another knock on the door elevates my blood pressure higher, and Keanu sits in closer, sliding his arm around my back, lending me more physical support.
A woman wearing a black skirt and white blouse enters the room, carrying a tray. She sets it down on the coffee table and leaves without uttering a word.
“Can I get you a coffee or some water, Selena?” Sinead asks.
“Water, please.”
She pours water from a bottle into a glass, handing both to me. Kev pours Keanu and himself a coffee while the SSA and Sinead grab a water too. When everyone is settled, they begin to explain.
“There are several criminal organizations operating in the Massachusetts area,” the SSA explains. “And their main sources of income are racketeering, drugs, guns, and the sex trade, specifically prostitution and the exploitation of minors.”
“Like I explained,” Kev adds, jumping in when the SSA looks to him to continue, “there’s been an escalation in violence on the streets since Jeremy Garcia’s death, Daniel Stanten’s imprisonment, and Carmine Mancusso’s passing. But it’s still business as usual, and that means every week more girls are brought into the city and forced into prostitution. Sinead and I have been following the trail, and the supply is coming from two main areas. Mexico and Texas.”
“However,” Sinead says, picking up where Keven left off. “The operations in Mexico and Texas are supplying various different entities, not just feeding the pipeline here in Massachusetts. We’ve heard rumors of an elite organization, headed by a powerful figure in the US political arena, that operates on a private island, off the coast of Florida.”
My pulse thumps wildly in my neck, and sweat coats my palms. I sip my water, praying I keep it down.
“Our intel suggests this island is a haven for wealthy, powerful, well-connected men to indulge in illegal sexual activity with minors forced into prostitution,” Keven says. “We are building profiles on some of these men, thanks to a few informants, and that is how Clive Lawrence first came to our attention.”
“Does the name Gerald Allen, Junior mean anything to you?” The SSA asks as Sinead pulls a photo from the paper file now resting in her lap. “He’s a senator from Florida.”
My mouth turns as dry as the Gobi Desert.
“This is him,” Sinead says, handing the picture to me. I put my water down and accept the photo with trembling fingers.
