Chapter 10 - The Basement Wall
The basement search began that evening.
I watched remotely from the hospital.
Behind a false wall, agents found what Lily had described.
Maps.
Photographs.
Schedules.
Copies of confidential documents.
Some of those documents had never entered my house.
That meant Grant had help inside the federal system.
Nolan stared into the camera during our secure video call.
“This is bigger than Grant.”
“Obviously.”
“We found access logs.”
“Whose?”
“We’re verifying.”
“Tell me.”
He hesitated.
“Deputy Director Warren Pike.”
I knew Pike.
He had approved my assignment.
He had personally insisted I take it.
He had shaken Grant’s hand at a department dinner the previous year.
I remembered the two men laughing together near the bar.
At the time, I thought nothing of it.
Now every memory felt contaminated.
“What did Grant give Pike?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“What did Pike give Grant?”
“Operational schedules.”
My blood went cold.
Nolan continued.
“Your team’s border movements.”
“Safe-house rotation.”
“Possible extraction windows.”
“The ambush.”
“Yes.”
My confidential source had died because someone inside our agency had opened the door.
And Grant had paid him to do it.
“Where is Pike?”
“We can’t locate him.”
“Then he knows.”
“Probably.”
I looked toward Lily.
She was coloring at a small table while Hannah sat beside her.
“How much danger are we in?”
Nolan did not soften the answer.
“A lot.”
I appreciated him for that.
The room phone rang.
I picked it up.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then Grant’s voice.
“Evelyn.”
I looked at Nolan.
He immediately began tracing the call.
Grant continued.
“You need to listen to me.”
“How are you calling?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to the officers guarding you.”
“I made a deal.”
“With whom?”
He laughed softly.
“You still think I’m the worst person involved.”
“I think you burned your daughter.”
Silence.
Then his voice changed.
“Vanessa told you.”
“She told us enough.”
“That idiot.”
“Where is Pike?”
Grant inhaled.
“Take Lily and leave Denver.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because Pike isn’t running.”
“What is he doing?”
Grant’s voice dropped.
“He’s cleaning.”
The call abruptly ended.
Nolan looked at me.
“We lost the trace.”
I stared at the phone.
Cleaning.
Kessler was dead.
Evidence was disappearing.
May you like
Grant was suddenly afraid.
And somewhere in Denver, a federal official who knew every protective protocol I had ever learned was deciding who needed to die next.
