Frustrated, I drag my arm along my desk, removing the contents on top in one quick sweep. Because the agents surrounding me are too busy inconspicuously watching Alex’s rant from afar, they’re none the wiser to my childish tantrum.
I’m not surprised. I’m not a threat to anyone except myself, don’t you know?
With my teeth gritted, I bend down to gather up the files I was in the process of sorting. They’re brimming with documents, bank records, and movement sheets that correspond with our target, Isaac Holt. But that isn’t all the files I’m gathering. There’s a thick manila folder I didn’t notice earlier. It doesn’t have the name of our target on the seal. It’s the file I asked Melody to unlock for me.
As I scoop up the evidence that the old Melody is still hiding inside her somewhere, I scan my eyes across the office. This file is so confidential, it has more than one private stamp embossed on it. It even has a CIA seal.
Confident I’m not being eyeballed, I gather the file into my hand, hide it with my thick winter coat even though its extra humid today, then hightail it to the room every agent seeks when they want privacy—the supply room.
“WHAT DO you mean you’re not going to share the information you’ve unearthed with Isabelle?” Grayson questions down the line. His voice is as hoarse as mine, like he too has been sitting on a hard floor for over three hours, sorting through evidence on a massive injustice. “If she knows the type of men Isaac is hiding from prosecution, perhaps she won’t be so eager to keep his secrets. He’s harboring a rapist, Brandon. They’re the worst of the worst.”
“A rapist who gave testimony saying my brother was the ringleader of the gang rape of Gemma Calderon-Levesque.”
“Hold on, what? Go back. What the fuck did I miss?” Grayson sounds as shocked as I felt when I read Hugo’s testimony from a rape case five years ago. It happened when Madden, Gemma, and Hugo —a member of Isaac’s security personnel—were deployed in Afghanistan. “Which brother are we talking about?”
“Madden.” Considering I only spoke one word, it shouldn’t have been as hard to express as it was. “Initial reports given to the JAG officer state Madden approached Gemma in the alleyway outside of a local bar. She was disorientated and dizzy, seemingly unaware of where she was. Madden said he tried to help her. Gemma’s testimony didn’t verify his version of events. She said Madden, along with an additional five officers, attacked her, and that Hugo stopped their assault.”
“Jesus H Christ.” I hear Grayson scrub at his beard. “Why would she change her testimony?”
“That’s the thing, she didn’t. She’s always maintained her side of the story. She is adamant Hugo never assaulted her.”
A chair creaking into place sounds down the line before Grayson asks, “Then why did he plead guilty to her rape?”
A shudder rolls through me when I recall the images attached to the file. They were when Gemma attempted to commit suicide. It was the night following my father slaughtering her in the witness box. He still had contacts in the military from his years of service, and they were more than happy to have a decorated defense attorney step in to help one of their own. Gemma was also an officer, but her name didn’t have military distinction attached to it. Madden’s did.
When I update Grayson on all aspects of my findings, he curses—loudly. “This is more fucked-up than my family shit. Jesus, punk.” He takes a breather for a second before asking, “Is this the first time your father has stepped in like this?”
I almost nod before the faintest memory filters through my head. “No. There was a similar incident when Madden was a sophomore. It wasn’t a gang rape, but he was accused of sexual assault by the police chief’s daughter.”
“What happened to those claims?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Madden had to hand over the keys to his Pontiac, and he joined the military, but I don’t know what happened to…” I lose my train of thought for a moment. I usually have a knack for remembering names, but Madden’s first victim is slipping my mind.
Victim… such an odd word for me to use if I believe Madden’s recollection of events.
Clearly, I don’t.
Ignoring my dead ass from sitting on a concrete floor for three hours straight, I stand to my feet before making my way out of the supply room. “If I forward you some info, could you work it through the pipelines on your end? It could be nothing, but it’s rare for my father to place his hat into a ring he can’t benefit from. This all occurred around the time he started his push for office. It could be one of those threads we’ve been seeking the past few years.”
“Yeah, of course,” Grayson replies without pause for thought. He knows the less my name is associated with the information I’m hunting, the better it will be for all involved. “Just prepare yourself, Brandon. When you’re digging for shit, you immerse yourself in it.”
“I can handle it.”
I hear his smile through the phone. “I have no doubt. Send me what you have. I’ve got a few spare hours tonight, and from what I’m hearing, so do you.”
Stealing my chance to question if he bugged my office, he disconnects our call.
I dump my cell phone onto my desk before logging into the official Bureau search engine. It only takes me a few minutes to remember the name of the girl who accused Madden of assaulting her in the middle of a movie date. I only had to search for the police chief in Saugerties the year Melody officially became my girlfriend. I’ll never forget that night. Not even years of grief have faded the memory I’ve worked on repeat the past seven years.
After forwarding Annie’s details to Grayson, I dig a little deeper into Annie’s father’s bank records. Money has been my father’s bribery tool for years. Ever since his inheritance from his great-grandfather’s oil refinery hit his bank account, he bought respect more than he earned it.
I hit a dead-end in Mr. Langfield’s bank records not even twenty minutes later. They ceased to exist five years ago. His family withdrew every penny they had a month after he was killed during a random traffic stop and left Saugerties for dust.
I’m about to commence a hunt for their whereabouts now, but before I can, a deep, moody voice scares the living daylights out of me. “What are you working on?”
“Ah…” I scratch my face, my ability to lie on demand long forgotten since I’ve rarely used the skill the past six years. “Just some stuff for another division. They wanted to see if there was any correlation between these bank records and Isaac’s.”
Alex purses his lips. He doesn’t want to believe me, but he has no reason not to. “I need you to stop that for now and jump onto surveillance with Reid. Facial recognition picked up a positive match for Isaac at an airstrip near The Hamptons.”
