Chapter 39 - The Final Stand
We froze. The spotlight blinded us, pinning us against the stone fireplace like insects under glass. Heavy boots crunched over the shattered drywall in the hallway, and two figures in plainclothes tactical gear stepped through the french doors, their weapons raised and steady.
“Hands behind your heads! Now!” the lead agent barked, stepping closer.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering past the spotlight, his posture shifted slightly. The aggressive military stance faltered into sheer, unadulterated confusion.
“Marilyn Vance? And... Tessa?”
The agent lowered his weapon slightly, clicking the safety back on. It wasn't an ordinary federal marshal. It was Marcus Vance’s lead investigator, Detective Miller, who had worked alongside us during the initial Meridian Trust audit.
“Detective Miller,” I said, exhaling a slow, controlled breath while keeping my grip firm on the metal case in my hand. “You’re a long way from the downtown precinct.”
Miller stepped into the room, holstering his sidearm and shaking his head in disbelief as he looked from us to the gaping hole in the stone hearth. “Marcus got an anonymous tip fifteen minutes ago that someone tripped the perimeter sensor on the East Wing. He sent me to check it out. I didn't expect it to be the two most wanted freelance investigators in Seattle.”
“We weren't trespassing for souvenirs, Detective,” Tessa said calmly, stepping forward and holding up the oilskin-wrapped metal case. “We were picking up what the federal receivership missed.”
Miller stared at the case, his expression hardening. “What is that?”
“The missing micro-cassette and ledger from the 2008 renovation,” I replied steadily. “The one containing the unedited financial records of every municipal judge, city council member, and silent partner who helped the Sutton syndicate launder public probate funds for two decades.”
Miller stared at us for a long, agonizing moment. The wind howled outside the broken windows, rattling the empty frames of the grand library. Then, slowly, a faint, weary smile touched the corners of his mouth.
“You two really don't know how to do things the easy way, do you?” Miller sighed, pulling a clean evidence bag from his tactical vest and holding it open. “Hand it over. I’ll make sure it goes straight into Marcus’s private, secure vault—not the general federal intake where half the files seem to mysteriously vanish before trial.”
I hesitated for a split second, looking at Tessa. She gave me a slight, reassuring nod.
Together, we dropped the oilskin case into the evidence bag. Miller sealed it shut, tucking it securely beneath his jacket.
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“Go home, ladies,” Miller said, turning toward the doorway. “The demolition crews roll in at 6:00 AM tomorrow morning. By noon, this place won't exist anymore.”
We watched him disappear down the dark hallway, his flashlight beam sweeping across the ruined walls before fading entirely into the night.
