Chapter 7 - THE NAME ON THE WALLI barely slept.
At 6:00 a.m., I was back on base.
My former supervisor, Captain Lewis, was already in his office.
I closed the door.
“Why were you meeting Evan Cole?”
His face went still.
“Excuse me?”
I placed the photograph on his desk.
He stared at it.
Then at me.
“Where did you get this?”
“Answer the question.”
“I can't discuss an ongoing investigation.”
“You weren't investigating him.”
Silence.
“You were meeting him.”
Lewis sat down.
“Rachel, you don't understand.”
“Then explain it.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Evan came to me months ago.”
“Why?”
“He claimed you were abusing your authority.”
“The same complaint?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“He said you'd become obsessed with his prosecution.”
I almost laughed.
“Did you believe him?”
“I didn't know.”
“What did he want?”
Lewis hesitated.
“Your removal.”
My expression hardened.
“From the case?”
“From everything.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Everything.
Lewis continued.
“He said if your personal life collapsed, your professional credibility would collapse with it.”
I stared at him.
“So the family allegations were part of a strategy.”
“Apparently.”
“Why would you help him?”
“I didn't know the family connection.”
He pointed at the photograph.
“I met him because I was instructed to assess whether there was a conflict of interest.”
“By whom?”
Lewis didn't answer.
“Captain.”
His eyes dropped.
“That information is classified.”
My hands curled into fists.
“Then give it to the investigators.”
He looked at me.
“You're not cleared to access the file.”
“Because someone stole my credentials.”
“I know.”
“Then someone is trying very hard to keep me from seeing what they did with them.”
Lewis said nothing.
That was answer enough.
Later that day, Laura called me.
“Rachel, I have good news and bad news.”
“Bad first.”
“The family court scheduled the full evidentiary hearing for next Friday.”
“And the good?”
“Dana requested forensic review of the photographs.”
I exhaled.
That mattered.
We could finally prove whether the images had been manipulated.
That evening, Monica called.
I almost didn't answer.
Then I did.
“Rachel.”
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Is Caleb there?”
Silence.
“Monica.”
“No.”
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
A wave of cold moved through me.
“What happened?”
“I asked him about the money.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What money?”
“The money from Evan.”
“You knew.”
“I knew some of it.”
“How much?”
“I didn't know it was for this.”
“Then what did you think it was for?”
She began crying.
“I thought we were collecting evidence.”
“You were collecting evidence against me.”
“I thought you needed help.”
“You had a choice.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
She didn't answer.
Then I heard something in the background.
A door opening.
A man's voice.
Monica whispered:
“Rachel, I have to go.”
“Monica, who is there?”
She hung up.
I called again.
No answer.
Ten minutes later, I received a text.
Not from Monica.
From an unknown number.
STOP DIGGING.
Then another.
OR THE NEXT CASE WON'T BE ABOUT ELI.
I froze.
A minute later, an email appeared on my phone.
It contained a photograph.
Me.
Leaving the courtroom.
And beneath it:
YOU SHOULD HAVE UNDERSTOOD THE FIRST WARNING.
I drove straight to Dana's office.
She was still there.
I handed her the phone.
She read the messages.
Then she asked, “Did your sister ever tell you what she believed the money was for?”
“She said collecting evidence.”
Dana looked at the photograph.
“There's something I haven't told you.”
“What?”
“We recovered deleted files from the reporting system.”
“What kind?”
“Drafts.”
“How many?”
“Eleven.”
“Who wrote them?”
“We don't know.”
She rotated the laptop.
The drafts contained different versions of the same allegation.
Each one more extreme.
One claimed Eli had been hospitalized.
Another claimed he had been locked outside overnight.
A third alleged I had threatened him with a kitchen knife.
All false.
All written before the final report.
Someone had rehearsed the lies.
But the final document contained something the others didn't.
A sentence that appeared only once.
Mother's employment prevents adequate bonding.
Dana looked at me.
“Rachel, who would describe your Navy service that way?”
I swallowed.
Only one person had used those words.
Monica.
But then Dana zoomed into the document's revision history.
At the bottom was a username.
Not Monica.
Not Caleb.
Not Evan.
A username I recognized immediately.
It belonged to a person who had worked in my office.
My former legal assistant.
A woman who had resigned six months earlier.
May you like
Her name was Sandra Pike.
And she had vanished without explanation.
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