Chapter 24
Nora's POV
When I returned, Julian was dressed and cuffing Derek with silver restraints. The two other wolves were still unconscious, their bodies reverting slowly to human form.
Ethan arrived thirty minutes later with federal marshals and a rescue team. He took one look at the scene—three incapacitated Lycans, a dozen freed victims, and Julian's calm, controlled expression.
"Mr. Sterling, are you hurt?"
"No." Julian handed him a file. "Get forensics down here. I want every document cataloged and uploaded to the federal database. Multiple backups."
Ethan nodded, already pulling out his tablet.
I knelt beside the young woman Derek had been dragging in. She was awake now, her eyes wide and terrified. I took her hand gently.
"You're safe," I said softly. "We're going to get you out of here."
She didn't speak. She just clung to my hand and cried.
---
Eight PM, Cold Creek temporary command center.
Derek sat restrained in an interrogation chair. The silver handcuffs not only restricted his movement but also suppressed his ability to shift—the burning sensation caused his wrist skin to swell and ulcerate.
"Talk," Julian said, sitting across from him. Ethan stood by, ready to record. "When did this start?"
Derek's voice trembled as he began. "A year ago... I met a broker down south named Victor Ross. He specialized in 'special business.' He said the southern gangs needed 'clean sources'—people with no records, no one watching out for them. Bottom-rung humans."
"So you targeted Cold Creek's vulnerable population?" I glared at him, furious.
"Those people... those people were already a burden on society," Derek argued, his voice shaking. "Unemployed, sick, no family... I was just... just letting them 'serve a purpose'—"
"Shut up." Julian slammed the table. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. "You have no right to define anyone's worth. Keep talking. How did you operate?"
Derek swallowed hard. "I registered a logistics company. Officially transporting mining equipment, but actually... actually using modified shipping containers to transport people. From Cold Creek to the border, fixed routes, two to three times a month."
"What role did your father play?"
"He... he provided cover," Derek's voice grew smaller. "Reports would be 'prioritized' by him—actually just destroyed. If the police got complaints from residents, he'd have the sheriff brush them off. State highway patrol checkpoints, he greased those too. They never stopped my trucks."
My fists clenched tight. I thought of my reports that had vanished without a trace, of those missing persons cases in the DSW system that "went nowhere after filing"—turns out they weren't buried under paperwork, they went straight into the shredder.
"Client list," Julian said. "All of them."
Derek's resistance collapsed under Julian's icy stare. He began naming names, one after another. Even a few seemingly respectable businessmen. Ethan recorded frantically, the text on his tablet growing longer and longer.
Another hour passed before Howard Sullivan was brought into a different interrogation room. The Cold Creek official had lost all his previous arrogance—his face was pale, his suit wrinkled, his eyes shifty.
Julian didn't speak immediately. He just sat quietly, letting the pressure of silence build.
"Mr. Sterling," Howard finally couldn't take it, "I... I didn't know what my son was doing. This was his decision, I—"
"Your bank account received two million dollars over the past year," Julian interrupted him. "Small transfers from five different shell companies. All of those companies' registered addresses point to your son's logistics company."
Howard's face went whiter.
"You have two choices," Julian said. "First, confess everything, provide all details, and try for a reduced sentence. Second, stay silent, let the federal prosecutors dig slowly, and then prosecute you to the maximum extent."
Howard looked up, his eyes filled with desperation.
"I choose the first."
---
The interrogation continued until one in the morning. When the last statement was recorded, Ethan closed his tablet and let out a long breath.
"The corruption network is bigger than we thought," he said. "Officials in three states, at least five Lycan gangs, and several seemingly legitimate businesses."
Julian nodded. "Notify the federal prosecutor's office to prepare for large-scale indictments. Also contact border patrol to block all suspicious transport routes."
"Yes, sir."
Julian stood and walked to the window, looking out at Cold Creek in the night.
I walked over to stand beside him. "It's over."
"Just beginning," he corrected. "The cleanup is just starting. But at least the nightmare here is over."
I nodded. "Julian?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"You did well too," he said quietly.
I laughed bitterly. "I didn't do anything. I just... stood there."
"You documented everything. You stayed calm. That matters."
Warmth spread through my chest. "I keep thinking about how many reports I filed. How many times I was told there wasn't enough evidence, or that it wasn't a priority." My voice cracked. "They were covering it up the whole time."
Julian said nothing. He just reached over and squeezed my shoulder.
"This won't happen again," he said. "Not in Cold Creek."
I looked at him, at the exhaustion lining his face, the quiet determination in his eyes.
"Thank you," I whispered.
He held my gaze for a moment, then looked away. "Get some rest. We're not done here yet."
---
The next two days, we were both busy.
Federal investigators flooded Cold Creek, verifying victims' identities one by one, tracking down more suspects. Julian worked almost without sleep, presiding over interrogations, coordinating departmental efforts, while also managing media pressure.
I focused on placement work. Building files for each victim, contacting counselors, coordinating medical resources, helping them contact family or arranging temporary housing.
On the third morning, all preparations were complete. We were heading back to Silverton.
The victims had been properly settled, and the follow-up investigation and prosecution were handed over to the federal prosecutor's team. Cold Creek was about to undergo a complete power restructuring.
I sat in the back seat of the SUV, watching the town gradually recede through the window.
I thought about the road we'd taken when we arrived days ago. Back then I didn't know what would happen.
Now, I carried a different kind of weight—the exhaustion of witnessing society's darkest corners, but also a certain resolve and hope.
I glanced at Julian. He was working on documents on his tablet.
Then our eyes met, and he gave me a small smile.
"Sleep if you're tired," Julian's voice came. "Two more hours to Silverton."
"I'm not tired," I said, though my eyelids were indeed heavy.
"You haven't slept properly in three days." His tone carried an undeniable insistence. "Sleep. I'll wake you."
Maybe I was too exhausted, or maybe his voice was too reassuring.
I closed my eyes.
Just like on the way here, I slept soundly.