My older brother, Lucas, was a supervisory federal agent on a public-corruption task force. He had warned me not to confront them and given me a coded emergency phrase if I was ever in danger.
Celeste shoved me toward the basement door. “You will cook until your hands bleed.” I touched the face of my smartwatch as if steadying myself and whispered, “Tell Lucas the blue ledger is open.”
Across the room, Damian’s campaign manager went pale.
Celeste did not notice. She grabbed my hair again.
But somewhere beyond the estate gates, my message had already begun moving through encrypted channels.
For the first time that night, I smiled, because Celeste thought she was dragging a frightened daughter-in-law downstairs, when she was pulling a federal witness directly toward the evidence.
Part 2
The basement kitchen roared with industrial burners and panic. Twelve exhausted workers stood beside towers of raw chicken, rice, and vegetables. None wore proper protective equipment. Two women looked barely eighteen. A security guard blocked the stairs.
