Page 22

22

LACEY

"Los Angeles is good news," Megan insists, pacing with that familiar energetic bounce in her step in Vadim's office. "Kirsan's running scared. Why else would he abandon Seattle?"

Demyon shakes his head, arms crossed. "Los Angeles isn't an escape route. It's an expansion. The cartels there control everything from drugs to weapons. Human trafficking would be just another revenue stream for them."

"Exactly my point!" Megan whirls to face him. "Kirsan would have to share profits, negotiate territory. He's independent now, why would he willingly give that up unless we're forcing his hand?"

"Because the market is ten times bigger," Demyon counters. "Even a smaller piece of that pie would be worth more than what he has here."

Despite everything that's happened, seeing them bicker like this brings a small smile to my face. Both of them have a point, but there's something that I feel that neither of them is ready to see.

As I think, their voices fade into background noise.

Then, something clicks, and I sit up straighter, drawing Vadim's attention.

"The two of you are forgetting something about Los Angeles," I say, my heart starting to race.

"Which is?" Megan asks.

"Los Angeles Fashion Week," I say, watching their faces. "It happens twice a year—spring and fall. And it's not just about the runway shows. The parties, photoshoots, talent scouts looking for fresh faces. We're talking about thousands of people at a minimum."

My stomach turns as I think about all those hopeful young models. Girls like Taliya, dreaming of bright lights and glamour.

"Lacey's right," Vadim says, his voice tight with tension. "It's the perfect hunting ground. Models from all over the world converge there. Both the ones working with agencies, and the ones without any representation or anyone looking out for them."

"And the cartels have established infrastructure for pretty much everything," Demyon adds, nodding slowly. "Storage, routes, corrupt officials..."

"Which means Kirsan isn't running away," I continue, my hand unconsciously moving to my belly. "He's scaling up. He's taking it to the next level. Instead of trafficking a few dozen women at a time through fashion houses here in Seattle, he'll have access to hundreds of potential victims. All in one place, all desperate for their big break."

Megan's earlier excitement fades as she processes this. "So we're not winning."

"No," Vadim confirms. "But now we know where to hit him next."

The weight of what we're up against settles over the room. I think about Irina, about Dr. Chen and Bianca, about all the women we've saved and all the ones we still need to save. My hand finds Vadim's under the desk and squeezes.

"But how is Kirsan able to expand so quickly?" Megan asks, her reporter instincts kicking in. "Even with cartel connections, building up an operation like that takes time."

The answer hits me like a punch to the gut. My hands start trembling as I remember a lecture from my brief time in fashion school.

"No publicity is bad publicity," I whisper, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

"What?" Megan leans forward.

"Any attention, even negative attention, can be turned into profit." My voice grows stronger as the horrible realization crystallizes. "The exposés we've been running? You remember the comments under the videos."

Megan's face pales when she realizes what I'm talking about. "Oh god."

"People asking about prices, and how to buy," I continue. "Some even defending Kirsan, saying the girls knew what they were getting into. He's not running from the publicity—he's using it. Every time we shine a light on his operation, he gains more potential customers."

"Fuck," Demyon mutters.

"The more we expose him, the more his... his market grows." The words make me sick. "He's taking our attempts to stop him and turning them into free advertising."

Vadim's hand tightens around mine under the desk. "The bastard's been three steps ahead this whole time."

"We can't stop," Megan says, her voice trembling with emotion. "These women need someone to speak for them. To tell their stories. If we stop now, it's like saying their pain doesn't matter."

"I agree." I lean forward, wincing at the slight nausea that accompanies the movement. "But we need to change our approach. These exposés aren't having the effect we hoped for."

"What do you mean?" Megan asks.

"Think about it. The kind of people willing to buy another human being—they're not going to be moved by stories of suffering. Horror and revulsion clearly aren't what's stopping them."

Vadim's thumb traces circles on my palm under the desk. "Then we make them afraid. Start showing them what happens to the buyers when we find them. Once word gets out that purchasing gets you killed, the market dries up."

At Vadim's words about killing buyers, all I can think about is Nathan and how easily he'd hidden his true nature behind his mask.

How many meetings and client dinners had Nathan attended while plotting to sell me? The memory of finding him with Caroline feels almost quaint now compared to knowing what he'd really planned for me.

"It's not that simple," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "There are too many people enabling this. Nathan for example. He wasn't a buyer. He moved money, set up shell companies, and helped make everything look legitimate on paper." My hand tightens around Vadim's. "How many others like him are out there? Accountants, lawyers, business owners all helping to keep this running? We need legitimacy in how we move against all of this."

"The police can't be trusted to investigate them." Vadim's eyes darken with understanding. "Too many of them are already on someone's payroll. I should know. I pay some of them myself."

"You're right," I reply. "But we still need law enforcement involved somehow. The public needs to see justice being served through proper channels."

"Why?" Demyon challenges. "The bratva way is cleaner. No paperwork, no trials, just—" He makes a throat-cutting gesture.

"Because then it becomes just another gang war," I explain. "The public won't care who wins or loses as long as it doesn't affect them. But if we can show this being dismantled through legitimate means..."

"Why not just use the cops already on the bratva's payroll?" Megan interrupts, that familiar spark in her eyes when she's onto something. "They could be the public face of the operation."

Demyon barks out a laugh. "The whole point of paying corrupt cops, zaychik , is knowing that they're dishonest."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Megan challenges, leaning forward.

"Start having them do legitimate police work." Demyon shakes loose a blond curl of hair from his brow. "And they might get ideas about finding a different patron. How do you think we got them on our payroll in the first place?"

"Maybe they just need the right motivation." Megan's eyes gleam.

"And just what do you have to offer them?"

Megan opens her mouth, and a blush creeps up her cheeks.

Demyon's grin widens.

"That's it," I whisper, drawing everyone's attention. "We don't need them to be honest. We just need them to be ours ."

We don't need honest cops. We need corrupt ones who are corrupted in the right direction.

"Kirsan's operations here." The words tumble out of me in a rush as the plan takes shape. "The casinos, clubs, brothels, whatever. They all need police for protection, even if it's just looking the other way, to function. So there are plenty of dirty cops on his payroll making sure everything runs smoothly."

"Of course," Vadim says. "But we already know this."

I lean forward, excited now. "Yes, but there must be honest cops too. Good ones who see what's happening but can't do anything about it because they're surrounded by corruption." My hand finds the necklace at my throat and I twist it absently. "What if we force them to reveal who they're working for?"

"And how exactly would we do that?" Demyon asks.

"The same way Kirsan keeps them in line—blackmail. But instead of using it to keep them quiet, we use it to make them talk. Direct that information to the honest cops who actually want to make a difference."

Vadim's expression darkens. " Zvyozdochka , that's incredibly dangerous. If it backfires, we could end up with the entire police force turning against us."

"Better us than letting them continue enabling Kirsan," I argue. "At least we'd know where everyone stands."

"And just where do you expect to find these paragons of virtue in the police force?" Demyon asks, skepticism heavy in his voice. "In my experience, a cop is either corrupt or waiting for the right price to become corrupt."

I think about Captain Rutledge's determined expression when he questioned me, how certain he'd been that there was more to Nathan's death than what appeared on the surface. But above all else, I remember him narrowing his eyes at me when I said the word bratva, and how his demeanor shifted—as if he had a personal grudge against them all.

"Well, I'm pretty sure I know of one."

"Who?" Vadim asks.

"Captain Rutledge," I say.

Demyon bursts out laughing. "That self-righteous boy scout would throw us all in prison without a second thought."

"Which is why he's exactly who we need." I lean forward, feeling the excitement of a plan coming together. "He's incorruptible. A man like him probably lies awake at night thinking about all his fellow officers taking bribes from people like us."

"And that helps us how?" Demyon's skepticism is clear in his voice.

"Because he hates it." I shrug. "Every time he sees another officer look the other way, every time evidence mysteriously disappears from lockup, every time charges get dropped against someone they all know is guilty—it eats at him."

"Lacey..." Megan's voice holds a note of warning. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

I can see the concern in her eyes. She knows me well enough to recognize when I'm about to suggest something dangerous. The tension in the room ratchets up as everyone waits for my answer. I take a deep breath, gathering my courage.

"We need someone Rutledge will listen to," I say. "Someone who he already wants to investigate."

Vadim's eyes darken as he realizes what I'm suggesting. "Absolutely not. You're not going anywhere near Rutledge again."

"He already suspects I know more than I'm saying," I press, leaning forward. "If I go to him now, claiming I want to make a deal..."

"Out of the question." Vadim's voice carries that edge of command that usually brooks no argument. "You're carrying my child. I won't risk either of you."

"I'm the only one who can talk to him,” I insist. "Rutledge will at least be interested in listening." I reach for Vadim's hand. "And if I turn him onto the trail of corrupt cops, they'll panic. They'll start covering their tracks, destroying evidence..."

"Making mistakes," Vadim finishes, his expression thoughtful despite his obvious reluctance.

"Exactly. And if that all happens while you apply pressure to just a few of the ones on Kirsan's payroll..."

"The rest will start looking for new protection," Demyon interjects, nodding slowly. "Smart."

"But finding which cops are exclusively Kirsan's will be nearly impossible," Vadim argues. "Most take money from multiple sources."

A bitter smile crosses my face. "We already have someone who can help us identify them."

"Who?"

"Freddy." I squeeze Vadim's hand. "Like you said, his gambling debts are owed to Kirsan's casinos. And sooner or later, he has to pay them back. He can go to the casino and see which cops are there as well."

"That's a workable plan, but how will this help us with Los Angeles?" Vadim asks.

"Once we expose enough corrupt cops," I say, lips working as fast as my brain can think of the words. "And tie them to Kirsan's human trafficking, then Captain Rutledge can become the face of justice to dismantle the network in Seattle for good. You can supply the information from the bible we took, and then Megan can launch the biggest possible expose about the entire fashion industry that's complicit right as L.A. Fashion Week gets going. People won't be talking about the latest style anymore, but about the rot that takes place underneath. And that's when we go to L.A. to rescue as many people as we can, and take down Kirsan once and for all."

Vadim's expression shifts from concern to something else entirely as he processes my plan. His eyes gleam with a mix of pride and admiration that makes my heart skip.

" Zvyozdochka ," he breathes, shaking his head slowly. "You've thought this through from every angle, haven't you?"

"I learned from the best." My lips curl into a smile. “But I have to admit, some of this comes from watching too many crime shows with Megan."

"It's incredibly risky."

"Riskier than faking a wedding to steal a bible from a cathedral in Paris?" I counter, arching an eyebrow at him.

A low chuckle escapes him. "Point taken."

My hand drifts unconsciously to my belly. "I want our child born into a world where Kirsan can't hurt anyone else. Where no more girls like Taliya have their lives destroyed by monsters exploiting their dreams."

Just then, the shrill ring of Megan's phone cuts through our planning session. She answers, and her face drains of color as the person on the other end starts talking immediately.

"What?" Megan's voice shakes. "Was anyone—" She falls silent, listening. "I understand. Yes. No, I... I get it."

My stomach drops at her expression.

Something is wrong.

Demyon reaches for her. "What is it?"

"The Seattle Voice..." Megan's words come out barely above a whisper. "Someone burned it down. The whole place is gone. My boss said the exposés I've been writing made us a target. And he just fired me."