Chapter 43 Chapter 43
FORTY-THREE~
The woman made me drive. She sat in the back seat, gun pointed at my head.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"You'll see," she said.
We drove for maybe thirty minutes, heading out of the city toward the industrial district. Finally, she told me to pull into an abandoned factory complex.
"Inside," she ordered.
The factory was dark and eerily quiet. Our footsteps echoed on the concrete floor.
In the center of the space, chairs and tables were set up. And sitting at one of the tables were three people.
Two men and a woman. All well-dressed, professional looking. All wearing expressions of cold calculation.
"Sit down, Mrs. Harris," one of the men said.
I sat.
"Do you know who we are?" the woman at the table asked.
"No," I said honestly.
"We're the people James Harris helped," the man explained. "The ones who benefited from his crimes. The ones whose names appear in his confession."
"You're the criminals he worked with," I realized.
"We prefer to think of ourselves as businesspeople," the woman said smoothly. "James understood that sometimes success requires operating in gray areas."
"Gray areas like fraud and extortion?" I asked.
"Like I said, gray areas," she repeated. "The point is, James's confession puts us at risk. We've spent years building legitimate businesses, respectable reputations. We can't have that destroyed by the ramblings of a dead man."
"They weren't ramblings," I said. "James was confessing his crimes."
"That's your interpretation," the second man said. "We believe James was suffering from dementia and paranoia at the end. He made up stories, imagined conspiracies that didn't exist."
"No one will believe that," I said.
"They will if you say it," the woman said. "You're an FBI agent. Your husband is James's son. If you both publicly state that James was confused, that his confession isn't reliable, people will believe you."
"Why would I do that?" I asked.
"Because otherwise, your family will suffer," the first man said simply. "We have resources. Connections. We can make your life very difficult."
"You're already making my life difficult," I pointed out.
"This is nothing," the woman said. "This is gentle persuasion. If you force us to escalate, you won't like the results."
"Are you threatening my children?" I asked, feeling rage build inside me.
"We're stating facts," the first man said. "You have three children. They're at home right now, supposedly safe. But safety is an illusion, Mrs. Harris. Accidents happen. People get hurt. Wouldn't it be terrible if something happened to one of your kids?"
I stood up. "If you touch my children—"
"Sit down," the masked woman behind me ordered, pressing the gun against my back.
I sat.
"Here's what's going to happen," the woman at the table said. "You're going to go home tonight. Tomorrow, you'll hold a press conference. You'll state that James's confession is unreliable, that he was suffering from cognitive decline when he made those recordings. You'll suggest that any allegations in the confession should be disregarded."
"The FBI won't let me do that," I said. "They have the files. They've already started investigating."
"Then you'll convince them to stop," the first man said. "You're persuasive. You'll find a way."
"And if I don't?" I challenged.
The three people at the table exchanged glances.
"Then we'll start with your eldest son," the woman said. "Liam, isn't it? Twelve years old. Middle school. He walks home from the bus stop every day."
"You wouldn't," I said, though I knew they would.
"We would," the first man confirmed. "We've already done worse. Did you think Victoria Laurence's suicide was really a suicide? Or that Jennifer Morrison just happened to discover James's safety deposit box? We've been controlling this situation for years."
"You killed Victoria?" I asked, shocked.
"She was becoming unstable," the woman said. "Making noise about revealing everything. We couldn't allow that."
"So you murdered her in prison," I said.
"We arranged for her to have an accident," the second man corrected. "There's a difference."
There wasn't a difference. Not really.
"How many people have you killed?" I asked.
"Does it matter?" the first man asked. "The point is, we're willing to do whatever it takes to protect ourselves. Are you willing to sacrifice your children to expose us?"
I wasn't. Of course I wasn't.
But I also couldn't let these people get away with murder.
"I need time to think," I said.
"You have until tomorrow," the woman said. "After that, we start making examples."
"How do I contact you?" I asked.
"You don't," the first man said. "We'll contact you."
The masked woman grabbed my arm. "Time to go."
She drove me back to Memorial Park and pushed me out of the car.
"Remember," she said. "Tomorrow. Or your children pay."
The car drove away, leaving me alone in the dark park.
My earpiece crackled back to life.
"Anita? Anita, can you hear me?" Agent Torres's voice sounded frantic.
"I'm here," I said. "In Memorial Park."
"Where were you?" Agent Torres demanded. "We lost all communication. By the time we got systems back online, you were gone."
"They took me to meet the people behind this," I said. "And Agent Torres, we have a problem."
Back at FBI headquarters, I told Agent Torres everything.
"They admitted to killing Victoria," she said, her expression grim. "That's significant. We can use that."
"They also threatened to kill my children," I said. "That's more significant to me."
"We'll protect your family," Agent Torres promised.
"How?" I demanded. "These people have resources, connections. They've been manipulating situations for years. How do we protect against that?"
"We find them," Agent Torres said. "You said there were three people at the table—two men and a woman. All well-dressed, professional. That narrows it down."
"Narrows it down to what? Hundreds of thousands of people?" I asked.
"To people named in James's files who have the resources and motivation to threaten you," Agent Torres said. "That's a much shorter list."
She was right. We spent the rest of the night going through James's confession, identifying everyone with enough power and money to orchestrate something like this.
We found five potential suspects. All of them were wealthy businesspeople. All had been implicated in James's various schemes. All had public reputations to protect.
"We need to investigate all of them," Agent Torres said. "Discreetly. See which ones have connections to the attacks against you."
"We don't have time for a discreet investigation," I said. "They want an answer by tomorrow."
"Then we give them one," Agent Torres said. "We tell them you're complying. Set up the press conference. And when they relax, thinking they've won, we strike."
"That's risky," I said.
"Everything about this situation is risky," Agent Torres pointed out.
She was right again.
The next morning, I called a press conference. Every major news outlet showed up, curious about what James Harris's daughter-in-law had to say.
I stood at the podium, with Declan beside me for support.
"Thank you for coming," I said. "I need to make a statement about the recently discovered confession of my father-in-law, James Harris."
I took a deep breath.
"After careful review and consultation with medical experts, we believe James was suffering from cognitive decline when he made those recordings. The allegations in his confession are unreliable and should not be taken as fact."
The reporters erupted with questions. I ignored them and left the podium.
Back home, I waited for contact from the three people.
It came that evening, via text.
Well done. Your family is safe. For now. Don't make us regret showing mercy.
"They bought it," I told Agent Torres.
"Good," she said. "Now we use the time they've given us to find them."
Over the next few days, the FBI worked around the clock investigating the five suspects. They found connections to shell companies, offshore accounts, suspicious transactions.
But nothing definitive. Nothing that would hold up in court.
"We need more," Agent Torres said. "We need proof that they were involved in Victoria's death, in the threats against you."
"How do we get that?" I asked.
"We make them confess," Agent Torres said. "We wear wires, we record conversations, we build a case the old-fashioned way."
"That means putting myself in danger again," I said.
"Yes," Agent Torres admitted. "But it's the only way to stop them permanently."
I thought about my children. About the life I wanted them to have. A life without fear, without constant threats.
"Okay," I said. "Let's do it."
The plan was simple. I would reach out to the three people—claim I needed to meet them again, that I had concerns about our arrangement.
Agent Torres would wire me for sound and video. Everything they said would be recorded.
And hopefully, they would incriminate themselves.
I sent a message to the number they'd used to contact me.
We need to talk. Same place as before. Tomorrow night.
The response came quickly.
Why?
I need assurances that my family is truly safe. That you won't change your mind.
There was a long pause. Then:
Fine. Midnight. Come alone.
"They're suspicious," Agent Torres said when I showed her the message. "They might search you for wires."
"Then we need to use equipment they can't find," I said.
The FBI's tech team outfitted me with the latest surveillance technology. Cameras in my clothing, microphones in my jewelry. Everything looked normal but would record everything.
"If things go wrong," Agent Torres said as she helped me prepare, "if they threaten you or try to hurt you, just say the code word. We'll come in immediately."
"What's the code word?" I asked.
"Mercy," Agent Torres said. "If you say that word, we move."
The next night, I drove to the abandoned factory again. My heart was racing, but I tried to stay calm.
The three people were waiting, just like before.
"Mrs. Harris," the woman greeted me. "You wanted reassurances?"
"Yes," I said, sitting down. "I did what you asked. I destroyed my credibility to protect you. I need to know that's the end of it. That you won't come back with more demands."
"That depends," the first man said. "On whether you keep your end of the bargain. As long as James's confession remains discredited, as long as no one investigates the people named in it, we're satisfied."
"But if anyone starts asking questions?" I pressed.
"Then we revisit our arrangement," the second man said.
"Which means what, exactly?" I asked.
"Which means we might need you to do more," the woman said. "Provide false testimony, destroy evidence, whatever's necessary."
"You're asking me to obstruct justice repeatedly," I said.
"We're asking you to protect your family," the first man corrected.
"By helping you cover up crimes," I said. "Including murder. You admitted you killed Victoria Laurence."
"We admitted no such thing," the woman said sharply.
"Yes, you did," I insisted. "Last time I was here. You said Victoria was 'becoming unstable' and you 'arranged for her to have an accident.'"
The three exchanged nervous glances.
"You're wearing a wire," the second man realized.
"Of course she is," the first man said, standing up. "Search her."
The masked woman from before appeared, grabbing me roughly.
She found the cameras and microphones immediately.
"FBI standard issue," she said, crushing them under her heel.
"Well, Mrs. Harris," the woman at the table said coldly. "You've made a terrible mistake."
"Mercy," I said clearly. "Mercy, mercy, mercy."
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the factory doors burst open and FBI agents swarmed in.
"FBI! Nobody move!"
The three people at the table tried to run, but they were surrounded.
Within minutes, all of them were in handcuffs.
"Are you okay?" Agent Torres asked, rushing to my side.
"I'm fine," I said. "Did you get it? Did you record them admitting to Victoria's murder?"
"We got everything," Agent Torres confirmed. "They're done."
The three people were identified quickly. All prominent businesspeople, just as I'd suspected. All had been involved in various illegal schemes with James Harris.
And all would spend the rest of their lives in prison.
"It's really over," I told Declan that night. "Really, truly over this time."
"You've said that before," Declan reminded me gently.
"I know," I said. "But this time, I mean it. Jame
s's confession has been shared with the proper authorities. Everyone connected to his crimes has been identified and prosecuted. There's no one left."
"Promise?" Declan asked.
"Promise," I said.
And for the first time in years, I actually believed it.
The nightmare was finally, truly over.