The drive to Virginia took three hours.
Vinson drove a black SUV with tinted windows and plates that didn't match any state Victoria recognized. Olivia sat in the back, her laptop bag clutched to her chest like a lifeline. Nathaniel rode shotgun, his eyes on Vinson's every move. Victoria sat between Olivia and the door, her hand resting on the pepper spray in her pocket.
They took back roads. Highway 95 was too obvious, Vinson said. Too many cameras. Too many state troopers who could be bought.
"We're crossing into Webb's territory," Vinson said. "He owns people in Virginia. Sheriffs. Judges. A congressman or two."
"Then why are we going there?" Nathaniel asked.
"Because he won't expect you to run toward him. He'll expect you to run west. Or north. Or out of the country. He won't expect you to hide in his own backyard."
"That's either very smart or very stupid."
"Both." Vinson's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. "That's usually how these things work."
---
The farm was at the end of a gravel road, surrounded by fields that hadn't been planted in years.
A two-story farmhouse, white paint peeling, a porch that sagged on one side. A barn in the back, red, faded. A silo that leaned slightly to the left. No neighbors for miles.
Vinson parked in the barn. The doors were old, but the lock was new—electronic, with a keypad.
"Inside," he said. "I'll bring the supplies."
Victoria followed Olivia into the farmhouse. The front door opened into a living room that had been converted into a command center. Three desks, each with a monitor. A whiteboard on the wall, already marked with names and arrows. A map of the D.C. area, pins in different colors.
"You've been planning this for a while," Victoria said.
"A year," Vinson replied from behind her. He carried two duffel bags into the room and set them on the floor. "I started prepping after Nora died. I knew I'd need a place to hide. I didn't know I'd need a place for four people."
Nathaniel walked to the whiteboard. He studied the names, the arrows, the pins.
"Webb is here," he said, pointing to a pin in Georgetown. "And here." Another pin in Virginia. "And here." A third pin in New York.
"Webb has multiple residences. Multiple offices. Multiple safe houses. He never stays in the same place two nights in a row." Vinson unzipped a duffel bag and pulled out a stack of burner phones. "He's paranoid. That's why he's survived this long."
"Then how do we catch him?"
"We don't catch him. We expose him. Different thing entirely."
---
They set up in the farmhouse living room.
Olivia took the desk by the window, her laptop connected to three external drives. Nathaniel took the desk by the door, his phone and tablet spread out in front of him. Victoria took the desk in the corner, facing the room, where she could see everyone.
Vinson stood by the whiteboard, marker in hand.
"Here's what we know," he said. "Webb controls a network of twelve key people—senators, judges, media executives. They do his bidding. In exchange, he makes them rich."
"Thirteen," Olivia said. "You forgot General Hollis."
Vinson added Hollis's name to the board. "Thirteen. Plus Webb. Fourteen people who need to go to prison."
"How do we make that happen?" Nathaniel asked.
"We build a case that can't be ignored. We take it to someone who can't be bought. And we make sure the evidence is public before Webb has a chance to bury it."
"The press," Victoria said.
"The press. But not just any press. Someone with resources. Someone with security. Someone who's been investigating Webb for years."
"Who?"
Vinson wrote a name on the whiteboard. Victoria didn't recognize it.
"Marcus Webb's ex-wife," Vinson said. "Her name is Catherine Webb. She divorced him ten years ago. He tried to destroy her. She fought back. Now she runs a nonprofit that investigates corporate corruption."
"You want us to go to Webb's ex-wife?"
"I want you to give her the files. She has the connections. She has the motivation. And she has nothing to lose."
Nathaniel shook his head. "We don't know her."
"You know me. You don't trust me. That's fine. But you're out of options."
Victoria looked at Olivia. Olivia shrugged.
"He's not wrong," Olivia said. "Catherine Webb has been trying to take down her ex-husband for a decade. She's the only person in D.C. who isn't afraid of him."
"How do we reach her?"
Vinson pulled a business card from his pocket and set it on the table. "She's expecting a call. From you."
"Why me?"
"Because you're the only one Webb doesn't know about. He knows Nathaniel. He knows Olivia. He knows me. But you, Victoria? You're a ghost. You've been off the grid for ten years. No social media. No corporate ties. No political connections. You're invisible."
Victoria picked up the card. Catherine Webb's name, a phone number, an email address.
"And if she says no?"
"Then we find another way."
---
Victoria made the call from the farmhouse porch.
The sun was setting behind the fields, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. She stood with her back to the door, the burner phone pressed to her ear.
Catherine Webb answered on the third ring.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Victoria Hart. I'm a friend of Cole Vinson."
A pause. "Vinson? The man who worked for my ex-husband?"
"The same. He says you've been trying to take down Marcus for ten years. He says you're the only person in D.C. who isn't afraid of him."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Where are you?"
"Somewhere safe. Somewhere Marcus can't find us."
"I've heard that before. From people who are now dead."
"I'm not dead yet."
Catherine laughed. It was a bitter sound, sharp and cold.
"Neither am I. But I've come close." A rustle of papers. "Vinson told me you have evidence. Files. Transactions. Names."
"We have everything."
"Then why haven't you gone to the press?"
"Because the press is on Marcus's payroll. You know that."
Catherine was quiet for a long moment.
"Meet me tomorrow," she said finally. "Noon. The National Gallery of Art. East Building. There's a bench near the Calder mobile. Sit there and wait."
"How will I know you?"
"You won't. I'll know you."
The line went dead.
---
Victoria went back inside.
Nathaniel was waiting by the door. "Well?"
"She wants to meet. Tomorrow. Noon. The National Gallery."
"You're going alone?"
"I'm going with you. Both of you. But she won't see you. She'll see me."
Nathaniel's jaw tightened. "I don't like it."
"You don't have to like it. You just have to trust me."
He looked at her for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"I trust you."
Victoria turned to Vinson. "If this is a trap—"
"It's not. Catherine hates Marcus more than any of us. She won't betray you."
"She might not have a choice. If Webb finds out—"
"He won't. I've kept her off his radar for years. She's clean."
Victoria hoped he was right.
---
That night, they ate canned soup and crackers around the farmhouse table.
No one talked much. The weight of the day hung over them—Diana's death, Rhodes's disappearance, the list of names that kept growing.
Victoria sat across from Nathaniel. He was staring at his soup, not eating.
"Nathaniel," she said.
He looked up.
"We're going to finish this."
"I know."
"Then eat your soup."
Almost smiled. Picked up his spoon.
Olivia watched them both, her eyes tired but sharp.
"You two have history," Olivia said.
"Complicated history," Victoria replied.
"The best kind."
Vinson stood up from the table. "I'll take first watch. Get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be long."
He walked out onto the porch. The screen door banged shut.
Victoria looked at Nathaniel. ZHis eyes met hers.
"Complicated history," he repeated.
"That's one way to put it."
He reached across the table. His hand covered hers.
"We should sleep," he said.
"We should."
Neither of them moved.