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“Captain Molina pulled sealed restraining orders. Two other women, both threatened and harassed. One of them changed her name. The other hired a private investigator after receiving a funeral wreath on her birthday.”

He looks up sharply.

“That PI followed the trail,” I say. “Burner phones. Surveillance footage. Transaction records. Your car parked outside Ivy’s doctor’s office last week. Your face caught on camera at a gas station fifteen miles from her Airbnb the night she moved in.”

Daniel’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“You were careful,” I add. “But not enough. You used the same cash drops. You kept the same security detail. We followed theirroutes. We matched bank activity to those addresses. Everything loops back to Garnett. Even the private security firm you hired has contracts with a subsidiary registered to your mother’s maiden name.”

Across from me, Daniel’s expression falters. His brows pull just slightly. His mouth parts, then presses shut again, and for a beat too long, he doesn’t blink. The bravado drains in degrees. That lazy arrogance he wears like cologne doesn’t settle right anymore. His eyes shift with the twitchy, uneven scan of someone cornered. Like he’s checking for exits without meaning to. Like his body has already figured out what his mouth won’t admit.

He’s afraid. Not of what I’m saying but of the fact that it might actually be true.

“We know how you paid for it,” I say. “We know where the money came from. You moved millions through shell accounts, some under Garnett, some under your father’s old campaign PAC. You used ghost invoices. You listed medical equipment that never existed. And you had help.”

He licks his lip and shakes his head with a dry laugh. “You don’t have a witness.”

I nod once. “Actually, we have two.”

He stares.

“Your accountant was picked up at the airport last night trying to fly to Zurich with two million in crypto and a hard drive full of falsified ledgers. She’s already flipped. Told us everything. How you paid off doctors. How you forged patient records. Even how you erased Ivy’s name from the database.”

A crack splinters through his mask then. Not just surprise. Fear.

“And the second witness?” I ask, tilting my head. “You’ll love this.”

His jaw tightens.

“Do you remember Dr. Emilia Cassane?”

He doesn’t answer, but his eyes shift. I have him.

“You told Ivy she overdosed last year. That she died in a hotel room in Carthridge. But she didn’t. She disappeared. Changed her name. And for the last eighteen months, she has been working with federal investigators to bring this case to court.”

He doesn’t breathe. Neither do I.

“She’s in the city right now. In a safe house. With a federal agent. And she brought more than testimony. She brought video footage. Signed authorizations. Internal emails where you threatened her. And most of all, she brought proof that Garnett Biomedical conducted clinical trials on human subjects without consent.”

He blinks once. His hands curl at his sides.

“And here’s the final piece,” I say, lowering my voice. “You paid for it all. Not just with money, but with your name. You signed the authorizations for the last round of testing. We have the documents. We had a handwriting analyst compare them. And the ink? Matches the pen found in your father’s old office, the one you took over last year.”

His silence is no longer calculated. It is suffocating.

“You don’t just have a pattern, Daniel,” I say. “You have a history. You left a trail. And this time, you picked the wrong woman to follow.”

He lunges without a word.

It’s sudden, all muscle and instinct, but I’m ready for it. My hand slams into his chest and sends him stumbling back. His body hits the side of his car, breath heaving, shock flickering across his face.

Before he can recover, two officers step out from the alley, moving swiftly, their presence cutting clean through the tension. Elena Molina follows, badge in hand, face hard with the kind of fury that doesn’t need to be loud to be lethal.

“Daniel Holt,” she calls, voice ringing clear, “step away from the vehicle and keep your hands where we can see them.”

Daniel freezes. “This is a mistake,” he says, raising his hands slowly. “I was invited here. I have the messages.”

“No one cares,” she replies. “You’re under arrest for multiple counts of harassment, violation of two restraining orders, and obstruction of justice. You’ll have your moment in court.”