Page 84 of Wraith: Lethal Impact

"The compass needs to go into evidence." She sets the tablet on her knee, stylus poised. "It's what the whole prosecution stands on⁠—"

"It's my father's."

"I know." Her voice stays flat, professional. "If it leaves here any other way, a defense attorney turns it into a paperweight."

My hand tightens around the cold metal disk. It's the last thing of my father's I have left, and I don't want to let it go.

"There's a copy." Maybe that will be enough.

"The copy convicts people. The original convicts more of them." Okafor extends her open palm. "I won't force you to hand it over, but I'm asking that you do. It's important."

The silver brass has warmed my collarbone every day since my father died. Before that, a nurse handed it to me in a Chicago hospital corridor inside a clear plastic bag alongside his watch and wallet.

"Will I get it back?"

"After the trials. That's years away, and I won't promise a date."

I open my fingers.

A tech steps up holding a thick evidence bag. The chain slides over the brass, and the blue tamper seal snaps across the top. Okafor holds out a digital stylus. I sign my father's last legacy over to the federal government.

Okafor takes the stylus back and swipes to a new form.

"The three men in the warehouse."

"Yes?"

"I need to know what happened in your words."

"Am I in trouble?"

"No." It comes out before I finish asking. "They blew the walls in on you. All three were armed. You were defending yourself and a woman who couldn't move. There isn't a court on earth that wants this." She sets the stylus down on the tablet screen. "But three men are dead. If nobody writes down how, then somebody with an agenda invents a different story in eighteen months and potentially turns it around on you. So we write it down now."

So I tell her.

"The first one came through the breach in the east wall. I was behind the crates. I shot him twice in the chest."

Okafor writes without looking up.

"The second one headed toward Ivy. He didn't see me. I stood four steps to his left, behind the band saw. I shot him twice and he dropped."

"Go on."

"The third came around from the right. The first shot hit his body armor and he kept coming, so I fired again, higher. Then the magazine ran empty, and I reloaded."

My hands rest flat on my knees, steady. My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird, but my voice doesn't shake once. I killed three men, and I just stepped through every detail with the cold rhythm of counting out a ballet combination.

"I just told you how I killed three men." My voice sounds flat, and the detachment terrifies me. "Why isn't it hitting me?"

"The ones who worry me are the ones who black out and can't remember a thing." Okafor pauses her writing. "Trauma buries itself deep when you block it out, and it comes back to break you later. You've got a clear picture of what happened, and that means you can work through it. Talk to someone when you get home. Not because something's wrong with you, but because it's heavy and you shouldn't carry it alone." She turns the tablet for my signature.

I sign.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Why are there US Marshals in Thailand?"