Chapter 4: Truth and Consequences
Jake Morrison's kitchen is surprisingly homey for a bachelor sheriff. Warm wood cabinets, a coffee maker that looks well-used, and family photos scattered across the refrigerator. It's the kind of kitchen where people actually cook meals instead of just heating up takeout, and under different circumstances, I might find it charming.
Right now, I'm too busy trying not to fall apart.
"Start from the beginning," Jake says, setting a mug of coffee in front of me. His voice is gentle but authoritative—the voice of someone accustomed to getting answers. "And don't leave anything out."
I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic, using it to anchor myself. Outside, the sun is setting behind the mountains, painting Jake's kitchen in golden light. It feels surreal that just two hours ago, a man tried to kill me, and now I'm sitting in a cozy kitchen about to confess everything to a sheriff I barely know.
But Tom Bradley is dead, which means the witness protection program is compromised, which means I have exactly two choices: trust Jake Morrison or run for the rest of my life.
"Six months ago, I was Grace Parker, forensic accountant for Webb Financial in Chicago." The words feel strange after months of being Emma Davis. "I specialized in complex financial investigations, helping companies identify fraud, embezzlement, money laundering."
Jake nods, his cop face on. "And Marcus Webb was your boss."
"More than that. He was my mentor, my friend. I thought he was one of the good guys." I laugh bitterly. "Shows how much I knew about reading people."
"What changed?"
"I was working late one night, trying to finish an analysis for a federal investigation. Webb Financial was consulting on a case involving organized crime money laundering. I needed some files from Marcus's office, so I went up to the executive floor." I close my eyes, but the memory plays behind my eyelids whether I want it to or not. "The door was open, and I heard voices. Angry voices."
Jake waits patiently while I gather myself.
"I looked in and saw Marcus standing over a man in a suit. The man was on the floor, blood everywhere, and Marcus was holding a letter opener. A bloody letter opener." My voice catches. "The man on the floor was Agent David Chen, the federal investigator we were supposed to be helping."
"You witnessed Webb murder a federal agent."
"Yes. And Marcus saw me watching." I meet Jake's eyes, and I see understanding there. "He tried to convince me it was self-defense, that Chen had attacked him, but I could tell he was lying. The scene was all wrong—Chen was shot first, then stabbed. Marcus was covering up something bigger."
"So you ran."
"I ran to the FBI field office in Chicago and told them everything. They put me in protective custody immediately and started building a case." I take a shaky sip of coffee. "The problem was, Marcus Webb has connections everywhere. Judges, prosecutors, law enforcement. Within a week, there was an attempt on my life at the safe house."
Jake's jaw tightens. "Inside job."
"Had to be. They moved me twice more, but each time, Webb's people found me. Finally, Marshal Bradley suggested witness protection in a small town, somewhere off the grid where I could disappear completely."
"And he brought you here."
"To Cedar Falls, population 2,847, where Emma Davis could live quietly until it was time to testify." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Except Tom Bradley was working for Marcus the whole time. He didn't bring me here to protect me. He brought me here to kill me."
Jake processes this information with the methodical calm of someone who's used to dealing with the worst of humanity. "Why not just kill you in Chicago? Why the elaborate setup?"
"Because I'm not just a witness, Jake. I'm the key to bringing down Marcus's entire operation." I lean forward, trying to make him understand the scope of what we're dealing with. "Before I saw Marcus kill Agent Chen, I'd been analyzing financial records for the federal investigation. I found patterns, connections, account numbers. I memorized everything because that's what I do—I see financial data and it sticks."
"What kind of patterns?"
"Money laundering on a massive scale. Not just for one crime family, but for a whole network of criminal organizations. Marcus wasn't just a legitimate businessman who killed someone to cover his tracks. He was the financial mastermind behind the biggest money laundering operation the FBI had ever seen."
Jake whistles low. "How much money are we talking about?"
"Conservative estimate? Two billion dollars over the past five years." I watch his eyes widen. "Marcus couldn't just have me killed because there was always a chance the FBI would find another forensic accountant who could piece together what I knew. But if I died accidentally while in witness protection, after a corrupt marshal supposedly tried to relocate me safely? That would end the investigation and make Marcus look like a victim of overzealous federal prosecution."
"Son of a bitch." Jake runs a hand through his dark hair. "So Bradley was supposed to make it look like you died in some kind of accident?"
"Or maybe like I ran away, broke the rules of witness protection. Either way, the FBI would assume I was dead or unreachable, and the case would fall apart without my testimony."
We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation settling over us. Outside, full darkness has fallen, and Jake's kitchen feels like an island of warmth and safety in a very dangerous world.
"There's more," I say quietly.
Jake's eyes sharpen. "What more?"
"The night before I was supposed to leave Chicago, Agent Chen had called me. He said he'd found something, some connection between Marcus's operation and other cities. He was excited, said it was bigger than we thought." I meet Jake's gaze. "I think Marcus killed him because Agent Chen discovered something that threatened more than just the Chicago operation."
"What kind of something?"
"I don't know. But Jake, what if Cedar Falls isn't just a random small town the marshals picked for my relocation? What if Marcus has connections here too?"
Jake goes very still. "What makes you think that?"
"The grain elevator where Tom tried to kill me—why there? Why not just shoot me in my apartment and make it look like a break-in gone wrong? Unless there was something about that location that was significant."
"The grain elevator's been abandoned for twenty years."
"Abandoned, or just not used for grain anymore?" I lean forward. "In my experience, criminals don't pick random locations for important meetings. They pick places that are familiar, controlled, or useful to their operations."
Jake stands abruptly and begins pacing. "You think Webb's money laundering operation extends to Cedar Falls."
"I think Tom Bradley brought me here specifically because this was supposed to be where I died. And I don't think that's a coincidence."
"Jesus." Jake stops pacing and looks at me with something between admiration and concern. "Your brain really works differently, doesn't it?"
"Forensic accounting teaches you to see patterns where other people see chaos. Right now, I'm seeing a pattern that says your quiet little town might not be as innocent as it looks."
Jake pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through contacts. "I need to make some calls. There are people I trust who can help us figure out what's really going on."
"Jake." I stand too, reaching out to touch his arm. "Before you do that, you need to understand something. Everyone who tries to help me ends up dead. Agent Chen is dead. Tom Bradley was supposed to be on my side, and he tried to kill me. If you get involved in this—really involved—you'll be putting yourself and everyone you care about at risk."
He looks down at my hand on his arm, then back at my face. "Grace, someone just tried to commit murder in my jurisdiction. Someone corrupted a federal marshal and used my town as a hunting ground. I'm already involved."
"This isn't some domestic dispute or bar fight, Jake. This is organized crime with federal connections and unlimited resources. They'll kill you without a second thought."
"Maybe. But you know what? I took an oath to serve and protect. That doesn't come with an asterisk saying 'except when it gets dangerous.'" He covers my hand with his, and I feel the calluses, the strength, the steady warmth. "Besides, you said it yourself—you're not just a witness. You're the key to taking down a two-billion-dollar criminal operation. That makes you worth protecting."
Something in his voice makes my heart skip. Not just professional duty, but something more personal. Something that scares me almost as much as Marcus Webb does, because I can't afford to care about anyone right now.
"Jake—"
"I know. This complicates everything. But Grace, you've been running and hiding for six months, and it hasn't worked. Maybe it's time to try something different."
"Like what?"
"Like fighting back."
The idea is terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. For months, I've been reactive, letting other people make decisions about my life and safety. The idea of taking control, of actively working to bring down Marcus Webb instead of just trying to survive until I can testify, is both appealing and terrifying.
"I wouldn't know where to start."
"Lucky for you, I do." Jake moves to a cabinet and pulls out a bottle of bourbon. "But first, we're going to have a drink, and you're going to tell me everything else you remember about those financial patterns you found. Because if Webb's operation extends to Cedar Falls, I want to know how and why."
He pours two glasses and hands me one. The bourbon burns going down, but it also steadies my nerves.
"One more thing," Jake says, raising his glass. "From now on, no more lies between us. No more half-truths or omissions. If we're going to do this, we do it with complete honesty."
"Deal." I clink my glass against his. "But Jake, when you learn everything I know about Marcus Webb's operation, you're going to understand why I've been so scared. And you might change your mind about helping me."
"Try me."
So I tell him. About the patterns I found in the financial records, the shell companies and offshore accounts, the way money moved through seemingly legitimate businesses in a dozen different cities. I tell him about the coded communications I discovered, the meetings disguised as business conferences, the way Marcus could make people disappear when they became inconvenient.
By the time I finish, Jake has poured us both a second drink, and his expression has grown increasingly grim.
"Two billion dollars," he repeats.
"At least. And Jake, that's just what I could track through Webb Financial's systems. If Marcus is as connected as I think he is, the real number could be much higher."
"And you memorized all of this."
"Account numbers, routing information, transaction dates, everything. It's all up here." I tap my temple. "Which is why Marcus can't afford to let me live, and why the FBI can't afford to let me die."
Jake finishes his bourbon and sets the glass down with a decisive clink. "Alright, Grace Parker. Tomorrow, we start fighting back. But tonight, you're staying here where I can keep an eye on you."
"I don't want to put you in danger—"
"Too late for that. Besides, my couch is more comfortable than that apartment above Murphy's, and I make better coffee than Betty's Diner."
Despite everything, I smile. "How do you know your coffee is better than Betty's?"
"Because I actually change the filter more than once a week."
It's a small joke, but it breaks some of the tension, and I realize that for the first time in months, I feel something like hope. Maybe Jake Morrison and his small-town sheriff department can't take on a two-billion-dollar criminal organization.
But maybe we don't have to take on the whole organization. Maybe we just have to be smarter, faster, and more determined than Marcus Webb expects.
And maybe, just maybe, I'm tired of being afraid.