Chapter 56 Chapter 56

Chapter 56 Chapter 56
FIFTY-SIX~

I woke up with a splitting headache and my hands tied behind my back. I was in what looked like an office—old, dusty, with boarded-up windows.

"She's awake," someone said.

A woman stepped into view. She was in her fifties, professional-looking, with cold eyes.

"Mrs. Harris," she said. "I'm glad you could join us."

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"My name is Rebecca Stone," she said. "Though I didn't actually call you. That was one of my associates using a voice modulator."

"What do you want?" I demanded.

"To send a message," Rebecca said. "The network gave you a chance to walk away. You refused. Now we need to make sure you understand the consequences."

She pulled up a chair and sat down. "Victoria Torres protected this organization for thirty years. She understood that some crimes serve a greater purpose. That certain people need to operate above the law to keep society functioning."

"That's insane," I said.

"Is it?" Rebecca asked. "The judges we protect make sure the right cases get the right outcomes. The politicians we support pass legislation that keeps the country stable. The business leaders we shield create jobs and wealth. We're not criminals, Mrs. Harris. We're patriots."

"You're delusional," I said.

Rebecca's smile faded. "Perhaps. But we're also powerful. And we won't let you destroy what we've built."

"People know I'm here," I said, hoping it was true. "If something happens to me—"

"Nothing will happen to you," Rebecca interrupted. "We're not murderers. We're simply going to convince you to stop investigating."

"How?" I asked.

Rebecca pulled out a tablet and showed me a video. It was footage of the twins leaving school. Of Liam at his law office. Of Sarah at home with her family.

"We know where everyone you love spends their time," Rebecca said. "And we can get to them whenever we want."

My blood ran cold. "If you touch my children—"

"We won't," Rebecca said. "As long as you cooperate. Drop the investigation. Stop talking to journalists. Let this all fade away. Do that, and your family stays safe."

"And if I don't?" I asked.

"Then accidents start happening," Rebecca said matter-of-factly. "Car crashes. Home invasions. Medical errors. We're very good at making things look natural."

I stared at her, trying to think. I needed to stall. To figure out how to get out of this.

"How many people are in the network?" I asked.

Rebecca smiled. "Enough. Judges, prosecutors, FBI agents, local police. We have people everywhere. Which is why you can't win this fight, Mrs. Harris. We're too big. Too connected."

"Victoria Torres thought she was untouchable too," I said. "Look how that turned out."

"Victoria got careless in her final years," Rebecca said. "Started keeping too many records. Got sentimental. We won't make the same mistakes."

"So you admit you're criminals," I said.

"I admit we operate in grey areas," Rebecca corrected. "But we keep this country running smoothly. You should be thanking us."

Before I could respond, there was a commotion outside. Shouting. The sound of doors being kicked in.

"FBI! Nobody move!"

Rebecca's eyes widened. "How—"

The door burst open. Detective Morrison rushed in with a team of agents.

"Rebecca Stone, you're under arrest," he said.

Rebecca lunged for something in her pocket, but an agent tackled her before she could reach it.

Detective Morrison untied my hands. "Are you okay?"

"How did you find me?" I asked.

"Your note," Detective Morrison said. "Declan called me immediately. We tracked your phone."

"I thought I was alone," I said.

"You were never alone," Detective Morrison said. "We've been following you since the network made their threat. We knew they'd make a move."

Rebecca was being handcuffed. She glared at me. "This changes nothing. The network is bigger than me. They'll keep coming."

"Then we'll keep catching them," Detective Morrison said.

Back at the police station, I gave a full statement about everything Rebecca had said. Detective Morrison recorded it all carefully.

"She admitted the network exists," he said. "That's huge. With her testimony and the evidence we already have, we can start making real cases."

"Will she testify?" I asked.

"She will if she wants any kind of deal," Detective Morrison said. "And she's smart enough to know cooperation is her only option."

Over the next few days, Rebecca Stone did cooperate. She identified dozens of people in the network. Provided evidence of crimes. Explained how the organization operated.

"It's even bigger than we thought," Detective Morrison told me. "The network has infiltrated state and federal agencies. They've been operating for over forty years."

"How did James Harris get involved with them?" I asked.

"According to Rebecca, James didn't get involved with the network," Detective Morrison said. "He helped create it. Back in the 1970s, he and several other business leaders realized they needed protection from law enforcement. So they started recruiting. Offering money and favors to people in positions of power."

"And Victoria Torres was part of that from the beginning?" I asked.

"Yes," Detective Morrison confirmed. "She was one of their first recruits. Young FBI agent, ambitious, willing to bend the rules. Perfect for their purposes."

"So everything we knew about her was a lie," I said.

"Not everything," Detective Morrison said. "She did catch criminals. She did solve cases. She just made sure the ones she caught were either not part of the network or were becoming liabilities."

"Like James," I said.

"Exactly," Detective Morrison agreed. "James had become too high-profile, too reckless. The network decided he needed to go down. So Victoria orchestrated his arrest in a way that protected everyone else."

"How many people are we talking about?" I asked.

"Currently identified? Sixty-three," Detective Morrison said. "And Rebecca thinks there are at least a hundred more she doesn't know about."

"How do we catch them all?" I asked.

"We start with the ones we can prove cases against," Detective Morrison said. "And we work our way up the chain."

The arrests began the following week. Two federal judges. A state prosecutor. Three FBI agents. A police captain. All charged with corruption, obstruction of justice, and conspiracy.

"Network Members Arrested in Massive Corruption Scandal" read the headlines.

But for every person arrested, ten more remained free. The network was vast and well-protected.

"This is going to take years," Detective Morrison warned me. "And they're going to fight back hard."

He was right. The network's lawyers filed motions to suppress evidence. Challenged search warrants. Attacked witness credibility.

"They're trying to bury us in paperwork," one prosecutor complained.

Meanwhile, I started receiving threatening messages again. Photos of my house. My family. Messages saying "You should have taken the deal."

"We need protection," Declan said.

Detective Morrison arranged for police patrols near our house. Security at the twins' college. Monitoring of our phones and email.

"How long do we have to live like this?" Maya asked.

"Until the network is dismantled," I said.

"That could be forever," Nathan said.

He had a point.

Two months after Rebecca's arrest, my father's health took a turn for the worse. His heart issues worsened. The doctor said he might not survive another month.

"I want to see him," I told Declan.

"Are you sure?" Declan asked. "After everything he did?"

"He's still my father," I said.

I visited him at home, where he was confined to bed. He looked so frail, so old.

"Anita," he said weakly. "I'm glad you came."

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"Dying," he said with a weak smile. "But at least I'm dying at home instead of in prison."

We sat in silence for a moment.

"I'm sorry," my father said finally. "For everything. For lying to you. For the crimes I committed. For the shame I brought on our family."

"I know, Dad," I said.

"Do you forgive me?" he asked.

I thought about it. Did I forgive him? Could I?

"I'm working on it," I said honestly.

"That's more than I deserve," my father said.

He died three days later. Heart attack in his sleep.

The funeral was small. Just family and a few close friends. Most people stayed away, not wanting to be associated with a convicted criminal.

"I loved him," my mother said at the service. "Despite everything, I loved him. And I'll miss him."

I cried at the funeral. Not just for my father, but for everything his choices had destroyed. Our family's reputation. Our peace. Our sense of safety.

After the funeral, my mother pulled me aside.

"I've decided to plead guilty," she said.

"What?" I asked.

"To the money laundering charges," my mother explained. "I'm not going to fight it anymore. Your father spent his last months living with guilt and fear. I don't want that. I want to face what I did."

"You could go to prison," I said.

"I know," my mother said. "But at least I'll have a clear conscience."

My mother pled guilty the following week. The judge, noting her cooperation and her age, sentenced her to two years house arrest and community service.

"I got off easy," my mother said. "I know that."

"Yes," I agreed. "You did."

"I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to make amends," my mother said. "I don't know if that's possible, but I'm going to try."

Meanwhile, the network continued to fight back. One of the arrested FBI agents was found dead in his cell. Official cause: suicide.

"That's the third 'suicide' since arrests started," Detective Morrison said grimly. "The network is silencing potential witnesses."

"How do we stop them?" I asked.

"We move faster," Detective Morrison said. "Get as many people to testify as possible before the network can silence them."

But moving faster meant taking risks. It meant pursuing cases without complete evidence. It meant hoping witnesses would hold up under pressure.

Some did. Others cracked.

"I can't testify," one former network member told us. "They'll kill my family. I'm sorry, but I can't."

Without witnesses, cases fell apart. Charges were dropped. Network members walked free.

"We're losing," I told Declan one night.

"No," Declan said. "We're fighting. There's a difference."

But it didn't feel like we were winning.

Then, three months after the arrests began, we got a break.

A federal judge who'd been part of the network decided to cooperate. His name was Judge Harold Brennan, and he'd been taking bribes for twenty years.

"I'm dying anyway," Judge Brennan told Detective Morrison. "Pancreatic cancer. I have six months at most. I want to do one good thing before I go."

Judge Brennan provided testimony about dozens of network members. Cases that were fixed. Evidence that was suppressed. Crimes that were covered up.

"This is what we needed," Detective Morrison said. "A high-level insider willing to testify."

With Judge Brennan's testimony, prosecutors were able to build stronger cases. More arrests followed. A state senator. Two more judges. Several business executives.

"The network is crumbling," Detective Morrison said.

But it wasn't crumbling fast enough.

One night, I came home to find our house had been vandalized. "Stop or die" was spray-painted across the garage door.

"That's it," Declan said. "We're leaving. We're taking the kids and moving somewhere safe."

"There is nowhere safe," I argued. "The network is everywhere."

"Then we go somewhere they're not looking," Declan said. "Start over with new names. New lives."

"I can't do that," I said. "I can't run."

"Then you're going to get us all killed," Declan said.

We argued for hours. Finally, Declan gave me an ultimatum.

"Choose," he said. "The investigation or your family. Because if you keep pushing this, I'm taking the kids and leaving. I won't let you drag them down with you."

I stared at him, shocked. "You can't mean that."

"I do," Declan said. "I love you, Anita. But I love our children more. And I won't sacrifice them for your crusade."

"It's not a crusade," I protested. "It's justice."

"It's revenge," Declan said. "Revenge against everyone who helped James. Everyone who covered up crimes. Everyone who destroyed our lives. But Anita, destroying them won't fix us."

"So you want me to just give up?" I asked.

"I want you to choose what's more important," Declan said. "Punishing criminals or protecting our family."

I didn't answer.

That night, I lay awake thinking about Declan's ultimatum. Could I walk away from the investigation? Let the network continue operating? Allow criminals to go unpunished?

Or was Declan right? Was I risking everything for revenge disguised as justice?

I didn't have an answer.

The next morning, I got a call from Detective Morrison.

"We have a problem," he said. "Judge Brennan is dead."

"How?" I asked.

"Heart attack," Detective Morrison said. "At least that's what it looks like. But Anita, the timing is suspicious. He was scheduled to testify next week."

"The network killed him," I said.

"Probably," Detective Morrison agreed. "Which means we lost our star witness."

"What happens now?" I asked.

"We keep building cases with the evidence we have," Detective Morrison said. "But without Brennan's testimony, several prosecutions just got a lot harder."

I hung up and sat in silence.

Declan was right. This fight might never end. The network was too powerful. Too well-connected. Too willing to kill to protect itself.

Maybe it was time to walk away.

But before I could make that decision, something happened that changed everything.

A package arrived at Detective Morrison's office. Inside was a hard drive containing thousands of files.

Financial rec
ords. Video recordings. Audio files. Evidence of network crimes going back forty years.

And a note: "From Victoria Torres. If you're reading this, I'm dead and my insurance policy has been triggered. Use this to bring them all down."

Victoria Torres had kept copies of everything.

And now we had them.