Chapter 6: Ghosts from the Past
Getting out of federal custody turned out to be easier than I'd expected. Agent Torres agreed to release me on my own recognizance, partly because the evidence against me was circumstantial, and partly because keeping me in protective custody was proving more dangerous than letting me investigate on my own.
"Forty-eight hours," she told me as I signed the release papers. "Then you report back here with whatever you've found, or I issue a federal warrant for your arrest."
Jake's release was more complicated. Military intelligence wanted to hold him pending their investigation, but a phone call from Rachel Martinez—who turned out to have significant pull with several federal agencies—secured his temporary release into my custody.
"You're vouching for a suspected arms dealer," Torres warned me as we left the federal building.
"I'm vouching for someone who's risked his life to protect me," I replied. "If I'm wrong, then I'll face the consequences."
Outside, Seattle was experiencing one of its rare sunny days, the kind of crisp October weather that made the city feel almost optimistic. But I felt anything but optimistic as Jake and I walked to a rental car Rachel had arranged.
"Where do we start?" Jake asked, sliding into the passenger seat.
"Tom's accounting firm. Whitman & Associates downtown." I started the engine, trying to organize my thoughts. "If he's been laundering money for the syndicate, there should be traces in his client records."
"You think he'll just confess if we walk in and ask?"
"I think Tom's a coward who caves under pressure. He couldn't even admit to his affairs—I had to catch him with photographs before he'd tell the truth." The memory still stung, but the pain was duller now, replaced by a growing anger at how thoroughly I'd been manipulated.
We drove through downtown Seattle in relative silence, both lost in thought. I kept checking mirrors for surveillance, a habit that had become second nature over the past few days. Jake did the same, his military training evident in how he monitored our surroundings.
"Sarah," he said as we approached the financial district, "there's something I need to tell you about the military intelligence investigation."
My stomach tightened. "What about it?"
"It's connected to an operation I was involved in three years ago. Afghanistan, classified mission, civilians were killed." Jake's voice was carefully controlled. "The operation was run jointly by military intelligence and CIA, with oversight from someone in federal law enforcement."
"Collins?"
"I don't know. The federal contact was kept anonymous, identified only as 'Federal Liaison Seven.' But whoever it was had detailed knowledge of FBI operations and access to classified intelligence files."
I pulled into a parking garage, trying to process this new information. "You think Collins was involved in a military operation that went wrong?"
"I think someone's been using my guilt over that operation to control my actions for the past three years. When Collins contacted me about providing your security, it felt like an order, not a request."
"Because of the leverage they had over you."
Jake nodded. "And because they knew I'd be motivated to keep you safe. What they didn't count on was me actually caring about what happened to you."
The admission sent an unexpected warmth through my chest, but I pushed the feeling aside. We had bigger problems than whatever was developing between us.
"So this whole thing—my frame job, your assignment as my bodyguard, the attempts on our lives—it's all been orchestrated by someone with connections to both military intelligence and federal law enforcement."
"Someone who's been planning this for years," Jake agreed. "Someone who knew your vulnerabilities, my psychological profile, and exactly how to manipulate both of us."
We entered the office building where Tom's accounting firm occupied the top three floors. The lobby was all marble and glass, projecting the kind of expensive respectability that attracted high-end corporate clients.
"Mr. Mitchell is in a meeting," the receptionist told us when we asked to see Tom. "But I can schedule you for later this week."
"Tell him his ex-wife is here," I said, showing my FBI credentials. "Tell him it's about federal financial crimes investigation."
The receptionist's professional smile faltered. "I'll... I'll see if he's available."
Five minutes later, Tom appeared in the lobby looking like he'd aged ten years since our divorce. Always thin, he now looked gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes and the nervous energy of someone under constant stress.
"Sarah," he said, attempting a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "What a surprise. And you brought a friend."
"Jake Thompson. I'm providing security for Agent Mitchell during her investigation."
Tom's eyes darted between us, clearly trying to assess the threat level. "Investigation into what?"
"Federal witness murders," I said bluntly. "Money laundering through private security contracts. Corruption in federal law enforcement." I watched his face carefully. "The kind of financial crimes that would require an experienced accountant to manage."
Tom went pale. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you? Because I think you've been washing money for organized crime through federal contracts. I think that's what your 'affairs' were really about—meetings with criminal contacts, not romantic entanglements."
"Sarah, you're being paranoid. My problems with other women had nothing to do with—"
"With what, Tom? With Blackwood Solutions? With Deputy Director Collins? With the systematic murder of federal witnesses?"
At Collins' name, Tom's composure cracked completely. He looked around the lobby nervously, then grabbed my arm.
"Not here," he hissed. "Too many people. My office."
Tom's office was on the twenty-third floor, with windows overlooking Elliott Bay. Under different circumstances, it might have been impressive. But the first thing I noticed was how paranoid the security arrangements were—multiple locks on the door, blackout curtains, electronic devices I didn't recognize.
"You're scared," I observed.
"Terrified," Tom admitted, pouring himself a drink from a bar cart despite the fact that it wasn't even noon. "You have no idea what you've stumbled into, Sarah."
"Then explain it to me."
Tom looked at Jake suspiciously. "Who is he, really? Because if he's working for them—"
"He's not," I said, hoping I was right. "But if you don't start talking, I'll turn you over to people who definitely are."
Tom sat down heavily in his desk chair, suddenly looking older than his thirty-eight years. "It started small. Three years ago, Collins approached me about providing financial consulting for federal security contracts. Legitimate work, or so I thought."
"What changed?"
"The amounts got larger. The payment structures got more complex. And the clients..." Tom took another drink. "The clients weren't legitimate businesses. They were shell companies, front organizations, criminal enterprises using federal contracts to launder money."
Jake leaned forward. "How much money are we talking about?"
"Hundreds of millions over three years. Maybe more." Tom pulled out a flash drive from his desk drawer. "I kept records. Insurance, I thought. Proof that I was just following orders, not initiating criminal activity."
I stared at the flash drive. "You have financial records proving Collins was laundering money for organized crime?"
"Not just Collins. Federal agents, private military contractors, legitimate businesses, politicians—the network is massive, Sarah. It spans multiple agencies and reaches into the highest levels of government."
"And the affairs?" I asked. "The women you were supposedly sleeping with?"
Tom's laugh was bitter. "Criminal contacts. Money drops. Coordination meetings. I let you believe I was cheating because it was easier than explaining that I was laundering money for people who kill federal witnesses."
The betrayal felt different now—not personal infidelity, but something much worse. "You let me think I wasn't good enough, that our marriage failed because of my inadequacies."
"I was trying to protect you. If you'd known the truth, they would have killed you three years ago instead of waiting until now."
"But they're killing me now anyway. Why?"
Tom's expression grew even more haunted. "Because Michael Grant figured out the connection between his case and the money laundering operation. He started asking questions, making connections, threatening to expose the entire network."
"And I was his handler."
"More than that. Grant specifically asked for you because he remembered you from a financial crimes case two years ago. He trusted you, thought you were one of the few clean agents in the Bureau."
I felt sick. "So Collins decided to frame me for Grant's murder to eliminate us both."
"Collins decided to eliminate anyone who could expose the conspiracy. Grant, you, me, probably others we don't even know about." Tom handed me the flash drive. "That contains three years of financial records. Bank transfers, shell company documentation, correspondence between Collins and the syndicate leadership."
Jake examined the drive. "Why didn't you take this to federal investigators years ago?"
"Because I didn't know who to trust. The corruption reaches too high, spreads too wide. For all I knew, any investigator I approached would be part of the conspiracy."
"So why give it to us now?"
Tom looked directly at me. "Because Lisa Parker called me yesterday. She said you were in trouble, that people were trying to frame you for crimes you didn't commit. She said you needed help proving your innocence."
My heart clenched. "Lisa called you?"
"We stayed in touch after your divorce. She was worried about you, thought maybe I could provide information that would help clear your name." Tom's voice broke slightly. "She was killed six hours after calling me."
The weight of responsibility was crushing. Lisa had died trying to help me, and now Tom was risking his life by providing evidence against the conspiracy.
"Tom, if you give us this information, Collins will know it came from you. You won't be safe."
"I'm not safe anyway. They've been planning to eliminate me for months—I can feel it in how my contacts have been behaving. Distance, nervousness, conversations that stop when I enter the room." Tom stood up, moving to the window. "At least this way, maybe some good will come from my cowardice."
Jake was studying the financial data on his laptop. "Sarah, this is incredible. Detailed records of money transfers, criminal contacts, federal contract manipulation—this could bring down the entire conspiracy."
"If we can get it to someone trustworthy," I said. "And if we can stay alive long enough to testify."
As if summoned by my words, Tom's phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and went white.
"It's Collins," he whispered.
Jake and I exchanged glances. "Answer it," Jake said quietly. "Act normal."
Tom picked up the phone with shaking hands. "Deputy Director Collins, what can I do for you?"
Collins' voice was audible from across the room. "Tom, I understand Sarah was seen entering your building this morning. Have you spoken with her?"
"No, sir. Should I be concerned about something?"
"She's wanted for questioning in connection with federal witness murders. If she contacts you, don't engage. Call me immediately."
"Of course, sir. Is there anything else?"
"Just be careful, Tom. Sarah's behavior has become increasingly erratic. She might try to involve innocent people in her conspiracy theories."
The line went dead, and Tom set down the phone with hands that trembled visibly.
"He knows," Tom said. "He knows you were here."
"How could he know?" I asked, then realized the answer. "Building security. Facial recognition software, license plate readers, electronic surveillance. If Collins has access to federal monitoring systems—"
"He can track anyone, anywhere, anytime," Jake finished. "Which means we need to get out of here immediately."
Tom was already moving, grabbing a go bag from behind his desk. "I've been prepared for this day for months. New identity documents, cash, offshore account access."
"You're running?"
"We're all running, Sarah. The question is whether we can stay ahead of them long enough to expose the truth."
As we prepared to leave Tom's office, I realized that everything in my life had been leading to this moment. My marriage, my career, my relationships—all of it had been manipulated by people who saw me as nothing more than a convenient scapegoat.
But I wasn't going to be anyone's victim anymore.
With Tom's evidence and Jake's protection, I finally had a chance to fight back against the conspiracy that had destroyed so many lives.
The question was whether it would be enough to bring down someone as powerful and connected as Deputy Director Mark Collins.
Outside Tom's window, Seattle stretched out beneath us, a city full of innocent people who had no idea how deep the corruption in their government ran.
But they were going to find out, if I had anything to say about it.