"You both did."
Diaz opened a folder. Keene leaned against the filing cabinet, arms crossed, letting her lead. "As of yesterday, we've arrested four city officials and two FDNY inspectors with direct ties to the payoff scheme. More are coming."
"The financial trail went deeper than we expected," Keene said. "Shell companies layered three deep, offshore accounts, structured deposits designed to stay under reporting thresholds. These people thought they were insulated." Something sharp crossed his face. "They weren't."
"The DA is building the state cases," Diaz added. "Keene's office is handling the federal charges. Between the two, these cases should hold."
Sloane leaned forward. "Is it safe to publish?"
Diaz and Keene exchanged a look. He gave a slight nod.
"The FDNY corruption piece, yes," Diaz said. "Arrests are public record. Publishing won't compromise the investigation, if anything, it puts pressure on the people we haven't reached yet." She paused. "But the arson case is different. We haven't located Rebecca Marsh. Not at any known address. The alias hasn't surfaced."
Keene straightened off the filing cabinet. "The arson case is NYPD territory. I'll leave you to it." He shook my handagain, then Sloane's. "Lieutenant Stone, the documentation you compiled is the backbone of our federal case. We'll be in touch." He nodded at Diaz. "Call me later. Still have a few threads on the financial side."
Diaz nodded. "Thanks, Keene."
He left. The door clicked shut behind him.
Diaz pulled a photograph from the folder. Slid it across the table.
I went cold.
Brown hair going gray at the temples. Kind eyes. A face that had spent months smiling at me across the Engine 295 kitchen, handing me containers of pasta, asking how my shift went.
"That's Becks."
Diaz's head came up. "You know her?"
"She's been coming to the firehouse. Months. Bringing food, hanging around." My hands had curled into fists on the table. "She told us her name was Becks."
Sloane's hand found my knee under the table. Steadying.
Diaz was already writing. "When's the last time she came by?"
I thought back. "Weeks ago. She just stopped showing up. Nobody thought much of it. People drift in and out."
"She got what she needed," Sloane said quietly. "Schedules. Response times. Routines. She was gathering intel."
"She mentioned she was local. Close to the station, walking distance." I shook my head. "We never thought to ask more. She was just Becks. The woman who brought us food."
"That's helpful." Diaz made a note. "I'll have units canvas the area around Engine 295. Landlords, corner stores, laundromats. If she's been living nearby for months, she left a footprint."
"What about publishing her photo?" Sloane asked. "If we run her picture, someone might recognize her. Call in a tip."
Diaz weighed it. "The corruption piece, you can publish now. For Rebecca Marsh, I can authorize releasing her photo as a person of interest wanted for questioning. A face in the Times might flush her out faster than my units can."
"Wanted for questioning in connection with an ongoing investigation," Sloane said. "That's enough to run with."
"That works." Diaz closed the folder. "I'll have units canvassing by this afternoon. If she's still in the area, someone's seen her."
I nodded. But I was thinking about the way Becks had smiled at me. The way she'd asked about Emma's fire once, casually, like small talk. The way I'd told her because she seemed kind and I'd been carrying it alone for so long.
She'd known exactly who I was.
The whole time.
Outside, the morning was bright and sharp. Sloane was already on her phone.
