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"Finally got access to all of Whitman's financial records." He held up a thick folder. "Think I found the money trail."
They headed to his office, where stacks of bank statements and property records covered his desk. Finn had been digging into Peter's background since his arrest, trying to understand how he'd funded his elaborate underground operation.
"Military pension," Finn said, pointing to bank statements. "Plus a successful career as a private military contractor. He made a fortune in Iraq and Afghanistan, training special forces units in advanced combat techniques."
"Then came home and used those skills to hunt people in his private killing ground," Sheila said.
"The cabin renovations were paid for in cash, spread across multiple contractors to avoid suspicion. But the real money went into the tunnel modifications." Finn shuffled through more papers. "The equipment alone—ventilation systems, reinforced doors, custom security features—cost millions."
"When did the killings start?"
"First confirmed victim was in 2018. Jacob Chen, a geology student. Body was never found." Finn met her eyes. "But something changed last year. The frequency increased. The victims got younger."
"Why the escalation?"
"Terminal diagnosis." Finn held up a medical report. "Aggressive brain cancer. Doctors gave him six months. He must have decided to complete his 'work' while he still could."
"Teaching his twisted gospel of darkness until the end."
Finn was quiet for a moment. Then: "You could have died in those tunnels. Going back in like that..."
"I had to." She touched his hand. "He would have disappeared, found new hunting grounds. More people would have died."
"I know." His fingers intertwined with hers. "Doesn't mean I have to like it." He paused. "I have to admit, I'm grateful your father went in after you. When he heard you were still down there…" He shook his head. "I've never seen him move so fast, bad knee and all."
"He saved my life," Sheila said quietly.
"Maybe it's time you two talked about that." Finn nodded toward her office. "He's been waiting to speak with you."
Sheila followed his gaze. Through the glass, she could see her father sitting in one of her office chairs. Even from here, she could read the exhaustion in his posture.
"About what?" she asked.
"Hank, I think. He said the two of them spoke, but he didn't want to spill the beans to me. It was for your ears only."
Sheila chewed her lip, wondering what her father had learned. Then, eager to find out, she squeezed Finn's hand once more and headed to her office.
"Finn said you wanted to see me?" she said as she entered.
Her father looked up. His eyes, troubled a moment before, cleared at the sight of her. "How are you holding up, honey?"
"Good. Thanks to you. If you hadn't come into those tunnels…"
Gabriel waved his hand as if to say it wasn't worth mentioning.
"I talked with Hank," he said.
"And?" Sheila watched him, trying to gauge how this conversation would go. She had no idea.
"He claims he knew nothing about what Tommy was planning. Says he was completely blindsided by all of it."
"And you believe him?"
"I want to. You should have seen him, Sheila. When I laid it all out—Tommy's real purpose here, the attempt on your life—Hank looked physically ill. Said bringing Tommy into the department was just helping family. That his nephew needed a fresh start after some trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"Nothing violent. Some disciplinary issues in his last department. Insubordination, mainly. According to Hank, Tommy claimed he'd learned his lesson, wanted to prove himself. And Hank thought, what better place than here? Under family supervision?"