“Or he thinks we've already flipped you,” I added. “Either way, the outcome's the same. You're dead if Harrow finds you. Your only chance at survival is cooperating with us.”
Webb's hands were shaking. “You can't protect me. Nobody can protect me from him.”
“We can try. Or we can throw you back to the wolves.” I kept my voice clinical. “Your choice, but make it fast. We don't have time for prolonged negotiation.”
“I need guarantees. Witness protection. Immunity. Something in writing?—”
“You think we're the police? That this is some official investigation where you get deals and lawyers and due process?” Dom leaned down and got close enough that Webb flinched back. “This is two men who've lost everything to Harrow's corruption asking you very nicely to help us destroy him. Cooperate and maybe you survive. Refuse and you're just another body that got inconvenient.”
“Dom.” My voice carried a warning. “Step back.”
He did. But slowly, making a point of it.
I turned my attention back to Webb. “Tell us about Lily Rourke's case. How the evidence got sealed. Who gave the orders. How much you were paid.”
Webb was quiet for a long moment. Then: “Fifteen thousand for the suppression. Another eight for coordinating the autopsy alterations. Five more for removing the witness statements.”
“Twenty-eight thousand total.” The number tasted like ash. “For a woman's life.”
“I didn't kill her. I just—I just made sure the case closed cleanly.”
“Who ordered it?” Dom's voice dropped to something deadly quiet. “Who told you to seal that evidence?”
“It came through the usual channels. A judge signed the order. The DA approved it. I just executed the paperwork.”
“Which judge?”
Webb hesitated, fear and calculation warring across his face.
Dom moved forward again. I stood and put myself between them.
“Let me handle this,” I said quietly. “Violence won't get us what we need.”
“He's stalling.”
“He's terrified.” I turned back to Webb. “The judge. Name. Now.”
“Carolyn Reeves. She's been on Harrow's payroll for eight years. Handles all the sensitive suppressions.”
My phone was already out, recording, documenting. Every word Webb said would be evidence when we finally brought this entire network down.
“And the DA who approved it?”
“Michael Brennan. He's since been promoted. Part of the reward structure.”
“How does it work?” I asked. “The whole system. From the initial request to the final suppression.”
Webb explained. Slowly, reluctantly, but he explained.
Harrow identified cases that needed managing, then sent requests through intermediaries. Webb coordinated with judges who signed suppression orders, DAs who approved them, evidence handlers who physically removed or altered documents, witnesses who were paid off or threatened into silence, medical examiners who adjusted autopsy findings. A machine built from dozens of complicit professionals who each handled one small piece and pretended not to see the larger picture.
And Lily's case had gone through all of it. Every stage. Every dirty hand.
By the time Webb finished talking, I had enough evidence to prosecute half the Crown Court staff and three sitting judges.
“Good,” I said. “That's a start.”
“A start?” Webb's voice cracked. “I just gave you everything. The whole network. What more do you want?”
