Page 10

The Carson Industries building loomed before them, a glass and steel monolith reflecting the overcast sky. Rachel pulled into the nearly empty parking lot, her eyes scanning the handful of cars scattered across the vast expanse of asphalt. A sleek black Mercedes caught her attention, parked near the front of the building. The lot would likely be much busier on a weekday afternoon.

"Pretty quiet for a company under investigation," Novak remarked, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Well, it is the weekend,” Rachel said. “Even crooked businessmen need some time off.”

Rachel noticed how Novak was already scanning the building's exterior, marking exits and entrance points—a habit she recognized from her own early days as an agent. As they approached the building, Rachel was already preparing herself to find the building locked. And even if they could get in, she doubted Reeves was there.

The main entrance was indeed locked, but through the tinted glass panels, they could make out a security guard stationed behind a curved desk, his attention fixed on a small TV mounted on the wall. Novak rapped his knuckles against the glass, pressing his badge against the surface. The sound echoed through the empty lobby.

The guard—young, maybe mid-twenties, with close-cropped hair and an eager-to-please expression—hurried to unlock the door. He opened it up with a smile, his eyes still taking in Novak's badge.

"Feds?" he asked, eyes widening as he examined their credentials. His nameplate read Martinez. "What can I do for you?"

Rachel kept her voice neutral, professional. "We need to speak with Victor Reeves. If he's not in, we'll need his address."

Martinez's face brightened. "Oh, Mr. Reeves is here just about every Saturday...when he's not off traveling somewhere, that is." He gestured them inside the building and when they entered, Rachel thought it felt like a tomb—likely the result of such a large space being occupied by only Martinez on a Saturday afternoon.

Martinez seemed to sense their urgency so once he had locked the door back behind them, he nodded over toward the elevator bank all the way on the other side of the massive lobby. "Third floor. Can't miss his office—it's the one at the end of the hall, looking out over the woods."

The elevator ride was silent, but Rachel could feel Novak's nervous energy beside her. She knew he was still trying to prove himself to her, still trying to fill Jack's shoes. Sometimes his eagerness made her want to scream, but today she found it oddly comforting. At least he’s not doing that thing where he feels the need to fill every single silence with small talk, she thought.

The third floor was a maze of cubicles leading to a row of executive offices. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the empty workstations. Family photos and personal trinkets adorned the desks they passed, frozen moments of lives Rachel couldn't help but analyze. A habit from years of profiling that she'd never shake.

Rachel paused at one desk, her attention caught by a photo of a smiling woman with Sandra Mitchell. The frame was dusty, but the image was clear—two women celebrating something, champagne glasses raised. Another connection , Rachel thought, filing it away for later investigation.

Reeves's office was exactly where Martinez had said it would be. Through the glass walls, Rachel could see him hunched over his desk, his silver hair catching the light. The office itself was a statement of power—corner placement, floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive art on the walls. An enormous picture window along the back of the room looked out over an expanse of a field and a literal sea of trees—mostly pines and firs from what Rachel could tell.

Reeves looked up as they approached, his expression morphing from concentration to irritation.

"Victor Reeves?" Rachel asked as they approached his open door. The office was immaculate—everything arranged with military precision. A row of financial awards lined one wall, while framed photos of Reeves shaking hands with various politicians decorated another.

"What's this about?" Reeves didn't bother standing. "It's Saturday, and I'm rather busy."

“We’re agents Gift and Novak, with the FBI,” she said, showing her badge. “We’re here to discuss the murder of one of your employees, Sandra Mitchell.”

Rachel studied his face as she said Sandra’s name. The change was subtle but unmistakable—a flicker of genuine shock crossed his features, followed by what appeared to be authentic sadness. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for a glass of water on his desk.

"Sandra's dead?" He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "How?"

If he’s faking his surprise, he’s a good actor, Rachel thought.

She took a deep breath and described the knock-off suicide pod that had been placed in a very random rural location, as well as the evidence that she had been forced inside of it. As she came to the end of the summary, understanding dawned in Reeves's eyes. His posture stiffened, and she could almost see the walls going up.

"So you’re not here to inform me of Sandra’s death, are you?” he asked, incredulous. “You’re here because of my passing connection to EndLight."

"Partly," Rachel confirmed, noting how his left hand twitched slightly. "We also need to discuss the financial fraud allegations."

Reeves's face flushed. For a moment, it seemed like he was caught between two worlds, not sure of which terrible bit of news to address first. "That's not any of your business. I have lawyers handling those matters, and I'm not at liberty to discuss them. Besides that…I don’t quite see what any of that has to do with this…this terrible news.”

"Mr. Reeves," Rachel leaned forward, resting her hands on his desk. "One of your employees is dead. Someone murdered her using technology that your company helped develop, and in a very odd way. We need to understand the connection."

"There is no connection," Reeves snapped, but Rachel caught the slight tremor in his voice. "EndLight just happens to be a product produced by MedTech…a company I am, quite frankly, proud to support. How one of their creations and one of my employees are connected in this terrible tragedy…I have no idea."

Novak stepped forward, his patience visibly wearing thin. "And the fraud?”

Reeves's jaw tightened. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Agent..."

"Novak," he said, voice sharp. "And I think we both know there's more to this story than you're telling us."

Rachel watched the interplay, noting how Reeves's eyes kept darting to his computer screen. Something was making him nervous, and it wasn't just their presence.

"Ms. Mitchell was killed sometime last night between ten and midnight," Novak pressed. "Care to tell us where you were during that window?"

Reeves's composure cracked. He was practically fuming with anger as his eyes left the agents and focused on his keyboard. He jabbed at his laptop keyboard, bringing up recorded security footage. He then spun the laptop to face Novak, shoving it so hard that Rachel thought it might fly right off of his desk.

"I was right here," Reeves snapped, fast-forwarding through hours of footage showing him in a boardroom with several other people. The timestamp clearly showed him present from early evening through past midnight.

"I was here , in this damned building from eight in the morning until 12:30 at night. I was in an investors meeting that ran long." He stood, planting his hands on his desk. "You can verify with everyone who was there. Hell, check the building logs, the security cameras…watch this footage to your heart’s content! Whatever you want." His voice rose with each word. "Now... anything else, agents?"

Rachel studied the footage playing on the screen. Reeves was clearly visible in most shots, engaged in what appeared to be a heated discussion with several other men in suits. But something about his eagerness to provide the alibi nagged at her. Maybe he was just pissed off, sure, but he seemed more defensive than the situation called for.

"These investors," she said carefully, "they wouldn't happen to be connected to EndLight, would they?"

Reeves's face reddened further. "Get out," he growled. "You want to ask more questions? Talk to my lawyers."

Rachel caught Novak's eye, giving him a subtle head shake. She recognized the look on Reeves's face—they'd pushed as far as they could without things getting ugly. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Reeves. We'll be in touch if we have any additional questions."

The walk back to the elevator was tense. She could feel Reeves watching them, his eyes boring into their backs as they left his office. Their footsteps echoing through the empty office. Rachel's mind was already racing ahead, plotting their next moves. They needed to dig deeper into EndLight and MedTech Solutions. Something wasn't adding up, but she couldn't put her finger on what. And as much as she’d love to keep thinking Reeves had something to do with it, she went back to the moment she had revealed Sandra’s death to him. He had genuinely seemed to be shocked.

As they waited for the elevator, Rachel glanced back at Reeves's office. He was still standing at his desk, watching them. There was something in his posture that bothered her—a nervousness that seemed at odds with his alibi.

"He's hiding something," Novak muttered as they stepped into the elevator.

Rachel nodded. "Maybe. But what?" She pressed the lobby button, watching the doors slide closed. "And is it related to Sandra Mitchell's murder, or just the fraud?"

"I don’t know,” Rachel said. “But he did seem legitimately shocked to hear about Sandra.”

“Yeah, Novak said, sounding almost disappointed. “I noticed that, too.”

As they came back into the lobby, they waved politely to Martinez, back at his place behind the counter. He gave them a cheerful wave in return, but Rachel barely noticed. Her mind was already racing through possibilities, connections, leads to follow. They needed to touch base with Detective Wheeler, find somewhere to work through the evidence they had. It was becoming quite obvious that this case was going to keep them away from home for the night…and likely tomorrow as well.

As they walked to the car, Rachel felt the familiar tickle at the base of her skull—the one that always came when pieces were starting to fall into place, even if she couldn't see the full picture yet. After years on the job, she'd learned to trust that feeling.

"Let’s call Wheeler," she said as they got into the car. "We need to find a place to set up for the night…see if we can find anything about EndLight and MedTech Solutions that might have fallen through the cracks. For all we know, they might be part of Reeves’s financial fraud allegations.”

Novak was already pulling out his phone, but Rachel barely heard him making the call. Her eyes were drawn back to the Carson Industries building, to Reeves's office high above She felt as if he was looking down, watching…and it made her want to get answers even faster than before.