Page 65 of Unlocked

She pushed her sudden dread aside for now and kept digging. If there was one hidden player, there were more. There had to be. The complexity of the structure, the sophistication of the laundering… This wasn't the work of three con men and one mastermind. Besides, the name she'd found, well, he was good, but he wasn't capable of being a mastermind. This was a team.

She pulled up another file. More wire transfers. More shell companies. And slowly, methodically, she started mapping the connections.

By the time she looked up, three hours had passed. And she'd found them. Five players, minimum. North, Lebowitz, and Kelly were the frontmen. That much was clear. They were the ones shaking hands, making pitches, and collecting checks.

But behind them were at least two others. Maybe three. People who understood offshore banking. Who knew how to structure shell companies to avoid detection. Individuals with the connections needed to move money across borders without raising red flags.

She stared at the name on the screen. The director of Silverline Capital. Louis Anderson. She shouldn’t have been surprised. The man was a scumbag, so why wouldn’t he be involved in this mess? Oh God, she was going to have to warn her parents. The last thing they would want was for the law firm to be tainted by this brush because they represented Lou Anderson.

Just the thought of making that call made her queasy. Her stomach rumbled, breaking her concentration. She glanced at the time, surprised to find it was past one. She needed to clear her head. Food would probably help her queasiness too.

She stood, her back stiff from hunching over the desk. She'd only gotten partway through the files, but she'd found enough. Enough to know this was bigger than she'd thought. Enough to know she was in over her head. And enough to know that whoever was behind this had the resources and reach to make people disappear. If she were being honest, she'd known all of this before, but she hadn't really taken it seriously. Her apartment being destroyed had put everything in a very different light.

She closed the files, locked her secret room, and grabbed her purse. Her fridge was still empty. Archer had gotten someone to restore all her furniture, but restocking groceries apparently wasn't part of the deal.

She changed into jeans and a tank top and headed for Kim's sushi place two blocks away.

"Tatum!" Kim, the owner, smiled warmly. "Lovely to see you. It's been a while."

"Hi, Kim. How are you?"

"I'm doing well. Your usual?"

"Yes, please."

Tatum scanned her emails while she waited. Nothing pressing. Her mother had called twice and then stopped bothering. It was going to be ugly when they finally met up again, but for the moment, she didn't care.

"Ready!" Kim called.

Tatum grabbed the bag. "Perfect. Thanks, Kim."

She was walking back to her apartment when she decided to make a quick detour into the corner store. She needed milk since she'd used the last of it in her coffee. She grabbed milk, a couple of bags of potato chips, her favorite snack, and was heading to the register when she suddenly remembered she needed toilet paper.

She turned around and walked back toward the corner of the store.

She was hit from behind. Pain exploded across the back of her skull, white-hot and blinding. Her knees buckled. The sushi bag fell from her hands, hitting the floor with a wet thud.

Strong arms wrapped around her torso, yanking her backward. She tried to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth. The world tilted sideways. Her vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges.

No. No. Fight.

She kicked backward, but her legs felt like rubber. Her heel connected with something, a shin maybe, and she heard a grunt.

"Fucking bitch," a voice hissed in her ear.

She was being dragged. Away from the front of the store. Away from Kim. Away from anyone who could help. Toward the back. The emergency exit. The alley.

Move, Tatum. Do something.

But her body wasn't listening. The hit to her head had scrambled everything. Her thoughts were sticky, slow, like moving through molasses.

The door banged open. Cold air hit her face. The alley. Dumpsters. Graffiti on brick walls. A white van, engine running, back doors open. That cut through the fog.

Danger, Tatum! They're putting you in a van.

Adrenaline spiked through her system like ice water. She jerked her head forward and then snapped it back as hard as she could. Her skull connected with the guy's face. She felt the cartilage crunch, heard him howl. His grip loosened. She twisted, drove her elbow into his solar plexus, and broke free.

He stumbled back, blood pouring from his nose. "Get her!"