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With a quick glance over my shoulder to ensure I hadn’t been followed, I slipped inside the building, my footsteps silent on the worn carpet as I ascended the stairs to the second floor.

The hallway was dimly lit, the air heavy with the musk of mildew and neglect. I moved with practiced stealth, my ears straining for any sound that might betray the presence of an unseen observer.

I found an office at the end of the hall, its door ajar as if inviting me to step inside. This must be Morrow’s office. I hesitated for a moment, weighing the potential consequences of my actions, before finally giving in to the irresistible pull of curiosity.

I pushed the door open and slipped inside, my eyes quickly adjusting to the gloom as I took in my surroundings. The office was small and sparsely furnished, with a worn wooden desk, a filing cabinet, and a couple of mismatched chairs.

Morrow was nowhere in sight.

I moved towards the desk, my fingers brushing over the scattered papers and files that littered its surface.

I opened the top drawer and felt my breath catch as I caught sight of a series of cryptic notes scrawled on a yellow legal pad. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the implications of what I was seeing were crystal clear.

The notes contained coded references to various DEA operations, including the botched warehouse raid that had resulted in Matt’s death. There were also several mentions of a mysterious individual referred to only as “The Benefactor,” alongside a series of bank account numbers that I recognized as being tied to the Reyes cartel.

My gaze landed on the computer screen, still glowing with the light of Morrow’s open email. With trembling fingers, I slid into the chair and navigated to the secure drive I knew he kept for sensitive operations. My fingertips flew over the keys, decrypting the files with a swiftness that belied my inner turmoil.

Whatever was in those files had to be the proof I needed. I grabbed a USB flash drive I had found in Morrow’s desk drawer and plugged it into the computer. I began the process of transferring the files, my eyes flicking nervously towards the door as I waited for the progress bar to fill.

But just as the final file was about to finish, I heard a toilet flush. Fuck. Morrow was in the adjoining bathroom.

The door handle rattled, and my heart damn near jackhammered out of my chest. I scrambled to stash the flash drive in my bra and hastily tried to rearrange Morrow’s desk to look like I never touched anything.

I didn’t finish before the door swung open, and there stood Marrow himself in all his rumpled glory.

“Natalia,” he drawled, eyeing me. “Looks like someone’s been snooping where she shouldn’t.”

I froze, my mind searching for an excuse, an alibi, anything to get me out of this clusterfuck. But Morrow just shook his head and closed the door behind him.

“Save it, Ramirez,” he said gruffly. “I know what you were doing in here.”

Shit. Here it comes - the clink of handcuffs, the cold steel of a holding cell. I prepared myself for the inevitable, squaring my shoulders and meeting his gaze head-on. If I was going down, it would be on my own terms.

But the arrest never came. Instead, Morrow sunk into his chair with a weary sigh, suddenly looking every bit his age.

“You weren’t the only one sniffing around where you shouldn’t,” he admitted, rubbing a hand over his craggy face. “I found something, too. Something big.”

I edged closer, eyeing him warily. “What are you talking about, Morrow?”

He let out a humorless chuckle, opened his desk drawer, and lifted up a false bottom. He reached underneath and when his hand emerged, he was clutching a slim folder.

“See for yourself,” he said, tossing the folder onto the desk.

I snatched it up eagerly, my fingers trembling ever so slightly as I flipped through the pages. Reams of encrypted data, coded transmissions, a damning trail of breadcrumbs leading straight to the biggest rat of them all: Chief Reynolds. The head of the DEA. That backstabbing, degenerated scumbag. He was the one feeding information to Ricardo himself.

“How did you get...” I began.

Morrow shrugged, his mouth set in a grim line. “I found it stashed in Reynolds’ private safe, along with a few other...incriminating items.”

Anger surged through me. I wanted to scream, to rage against the sheer injustice of it all. But I swallowed it down.

Morrow watched me carefully. For once, there was no hint of judgment or condescension in his eyes. Just a weary sort of understanding, the kind that can only come from years of wading through this same cesspool of corruption and deceit.

“What’s the pl?—”

The sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway cut me off mid-quip, and we both tensed, ears perked like a pair of feral cats.

Morrow jerked his head toward the window and handed me the folder. “Now you know why we couldn’t go to the Internal Affairs. If anything happens, take this to the DA. He’s the only guy who can nail the Chief.”