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Scar’s jaw ticks.
Lucky flicks his knife into the table with a softthunk.“She trusted Zack.”
Kanyan growls low in his throat. “They were playing a long game. Making her feel safe before the next grab.”
Mason finally speaks. “They didn’t count on the Gattis getting involved.”
“Or her association with us is exactly why she was taken,” Kanyan says. “No doubt it would increase her value.”
Scar exhales hard through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face. “What else do we know about the Pastor?”
I turn back to the laptop and pull up the file I started building the moment I knew I’d gone rogue. Tonight, with the intel I got from my content, all the pieces finally fell into place.
“Publicly? He’s a saint. Founder of three megachurches. Runs community shelters, trauma centers, victim outreach programs.” I scoff. “Irony’s a bitch.”
“So he’s laundering under the guise of charity.”
I look at Lucky and nod. “And building a pipeline. Not just girls—buyers. The Aviary doesn’t survive without a demand. The Pastor’s not just feeding the machine—he’s the one oiling it.”
Scar steps closer, eyes locked on the grainy photo I pull up—a smiling Vernon Gibbons shaking hands with a governor, a senator, a bishop. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “He’s untouchable.”
“No one’s untouchable,” I snap. “They just bleed in better suits.”
“How sure are we that this is our man?” Lucky asks.
“As sure as I am that Vernon Gibbons is Zack Morgan’s biological father.”
“Tell me you’re joking,” Mason says, stepping forward. “How did you not know this? You said the boy’s been stalking Maxine for weeks.”
“There was no way of knowing. Gibbons is not even listed on the birth certificate. It’s only the deep dive my contact did an hour ago that gave us this information.”
My phone buzzes once. It’s her. FBI Special Agent Norah Vexley—my last link to the system that just tried to bury me. We went through Quantico together. She’s the only one who didn’t turn her back on me when the Bureau cut me out.
I pick up. She doesn’t waste time. “You were right.”
My pulse spikes. “Talk to me.”
“That burner call? The one Zack made?”
I hear the furious tapping of keys on her end, the rustle of a file being opened. Norah’s still going like a caffeine-fueled freight train. When she flips the switch to work mode, she treats time like it owes her rent—and God help anyone who tries to slow her down.
“We traced the signal. Cell tower triangulation pegs it to a private estate about thirty minutes outside the city. It’s rural, gated, and buried deep off a state road with zero public access.”
“Go on.”
“Estate’s registered under a trust,” Norah continues. “Front company tied to a religious nonprofit—Heaven’s Reach Ministries.”
I turn to the others—and nod once. Finally, our first solid break. “It’s him.”
Scar swears under his breath.
“Guess who signs the tax forms,” she adds. “Vernon Gibbons.”
Bingo. The Pastor.
The man who just gave the order to kill his own son. The man who we believe is now running the Aviary.
“We’ve pulled heat mapping from satellite,” Norah says. “There’s a main house—9,000 square feet. Secondary structure in the northeast quadrant. Possible holding cells. Low-profile thermal signatures—probably underground. That’s where she’ll be.”