My second caller, Special Prosecutor Naomi Price, brought the evidence to a federal judge. Naomi had once been an investigator whose corruption case was about to collapse until an anonymous package from me exposed six officials. She had never known my real name until that morning.
My third caller was Adrian Cross, Conrad’s former partner, presumed dead after his car exploded. I had hidden him, protected his new identity, and kept his recorded testimony sealed. Now Adrian walked into a federal building carrying proof that Conrad had ordered murders, bought judges, and laundered syndicate money through humanitarian foundations.
At nine thirty, Conrad called me.
“You’re late,” he said coldly. “The photographer wants family pictures.”
“Elena needs another hour.”
“She has ten minutes.”
I let the silence sharpen between us.
He chuckled. “Margaret, women like you survive by understanding scale. I employ eighteen thousand people. I dine with governors. Your son is facing prison, and your daughter belongs to my family after today.”
