Chapter 11 - The Price of Silence

I called Nia. No answer. I called again while running to my car. She picked up on the third try, breathless.
"I'm fine," she said. "What's going on?"
"Get back inside. Lock the door. Call 911. Someone's watching you."
"Elena, are you serious?"
"I've never been more serious."
By the time I reached her building, police lights were flashing in the street. A neighbor had seen a stranger taking pictures of the entrance and followed him on foot. Officers were reviewing security footage. Nia stood on the sidewalk with a blanket around her shoulders, furious and frightened.
"I wanted to help you find your mom," she said. "I didn't sign up to be a threat on somebody's phone."
"I know."
"No, you don't. I have a kid brother in college and a mom who thinks I'm safe because I work with spreadsheets."
There was nothing I could say that would make her wrong.
"You can walk away," I told her. "I'll never hold it against you."
She looked at me hard. "And leave you alone with all these monsters? I'm scared, not stupid. But we're doing it with lawyers and police from now on."
We both laughed, a quick broken sound that turned into tears.
The next afternoon, a judge issued an emergency preservation order requiring Bellwether to retain specific physical and electronic records. Federal investigators arrived with lawful authority to examine the materials. Employees kept a public vigil outside the gates, holding signs that read OUR WORK IS NOT YOUR SECRET.
I watched from across the street beside Katherine. Trucks waited behind the locked fence. Whitcomb's attorney argued with a federal agent. For the first time, Graham wasn't controlling the room.
Then Marcus came running through the gate, one sleeve torn, blood on his forehead.
"They took the blue room apart overnight," he gasped.
"What?" Katherine demanded.
"The file cabinets are gone. The elevator shaft is empty. But I found something in the wall."
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He opened his fist. In his palm rested a small brass tag engraved with a single name.
MATEO WHITCOMB.