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Chapter One Hundred Forty-Four: The Arrests
By Friday, the arrests had a name in the newspapers.They called it *The Ledger.* A banner headline, in thick black type, ran across the front page of every paper in the state, and the television anchors said it with the soft, shocked reverence reserved for earthquakes. *THE LEDGER: ARRESTS CONTINUE.*Caleb read it at the kitchen table at Harbor View, with a cup of coffee going cold at his elbow, while Nadia stood at the stove frying eggs and humming off-key."Seventeen," he said. "They've arrested seventeen.""Name them.""A federal judge. Two state judges. Colin Roark's father, who's been dead since 2019, so the Bureau's going after his estate." He turned a page. "A deputy commissioner of insurance. Four inspectors. A city councilman. Two fire marshals in other states. The former mayor." He paused. "Hargrove.""The ATF director?""They arrested him at his daughter's graduation.""Oh, *Caleb.*""He was there for twenty minutes. He'd been paid fifty thousand dollars in 2004 to look th
Chapter One Hundred Forty-Three: Forgery
The courtroom held its breath.Percival Hane stared at the little black book in his hands. His thumb, small and trembling, moved over the spine. The gilt numerals, *V-7,* caught the light. His lips moved silently."That is not possible," he said at last."Isn't it?" Marrow had not moved. "Warren is a very careful man. In the confusion at the Annex, with the lights failing and the harbor rising, I understand you were handed a number of volumes by Captain Reyes. Seven, I believe?""Seven.""All black cloth. All gilt. Rather similar in appearance." He spread his hands. "Is it not conceivable that, in the dark, a few were exchanged?""No. I wrote them. I would *know.*""Would you? You're seventy-nine, Percival. You've been without your glasses. You've nearly drowned." Marrow's voice was warm as honey. "You've been under the influence of a federal agency for three days. I'm sure it's all quite understandable."Prentiss was already on his feet, voice ringing."Your Honor, the defense moves
Chapter One Hundred Forty-Two: Monday Hearing
The federal courthouse stood on the east bank of the river, a tall gray box of limestone and smoked glass, with a flag out front and a line of television trucks stretching around the corner. At eight forty-five on Monday morning, the crowd on the steps was three deep.Caleb pushed through it with Whitlock at his shoulder.He had slept four hours. His shoulder was strapped. His hands, freshly bandaged, had been declared by the burn clinic to be "healing remarkably, if you stop using them." He wore a borrowed suit, charcoal and slightly too large, and a plain blue tie that Nadia had knotted at the front door that morning, with her small fingers shaking, and her eyes bright.*Come home,* she'd said, and kissed him.The courtroom was packed to the walls.On the left, at the defense table, sat Silas Marrow in a navy suit, hands folded, silver hair gleaming. Beside him, three lawyers in matching gray. A paralegal with a rolling cart of binders. Marrow looked rested. He looked, in fact, fain
Chapter One Hundred Forty-One: The Service Elevator
The corridor was a hundred feet long and Caleb covered it in six seconds.The gurney sat empty at the far end, beside a drinks trolley, with its brake off and a cup of tea steaming on the rail. A nurse stood beside it, bewildered, holding a clipboard. Priya had stopped dead in the doorway of the family lounge with a laptop in her arms."Where is he?" Caleb snapped."Who?" said the nurse."The old man. Seventy-nine. White hair. Very small.""Oh. Mr. Hane. He's gone for his chest X-ray." She pointed. "An orderly came for him two minutes ago. He said it was routine.""Which orderly?""I don't know. A tall man. Gray scrubs. He had an ID badge." Her face changed. "Why? Isn't that right?"Caleb was already running.---The service elevator was at the end of the east wing, behind a swinging door marked STAFF ONLY. Its indicator light showed a single descending number. *3. 2.*"Stairs!" he shouted."Chief—" Priya was behind him, panting. "The FBI's in the lounge! Imanaka's on the phone!""Get
Chapter One Hundred Forty: Old Friends
"This is a hospital," said the nurse."Yes," said Marrow, kindly. "I know. I shan't be long."Behind him, the two agents looked uneasy. One of them, a tall woman with cropped gray hair and a Bureau windbreaker, stood with her hand on her belt and her eyes on the lawyer. The lawyer, a pale, thin man in a three-piece suit, held a thick leather folio against his chest like a shield."Special Agent in Charge Imanaka," the gray-haired woman said, in a voice like a closing door. "Mr. Marrow is here at his own request. He has asked to visit Harold Whitfield, who is a patient on this floor. He has been informed that his statements will be recorded and that he is not under arrest." Her eyes moved to Caleb. "Yet.""Agent Imanaka.""Captain Reyes." She nodded, once, with a flicker of something that might have been respect. "I'm told you've been busy.""I've been swimming.""So I understand." She turned back to Marrow. "Mr. Marrow. You have ten minutes.""I'm very grateful."He walked past Caleb
Chapter One Hundred Thirty-Nine: Seven Black Books
Hane said it was the most excitement he'd had since 1974.He sat propped on a gurney in the corridor of Harbor General at six in the morning, wrapped in three blankets, drinking a paper cup of weak tea with the tremulous dignity of a man who had survived a flood, a fire, and a firefight, and found them all more or less tolerable. A nurse was trying to take his blood pressure. He was explaining, politely, that it would be high."I was a bookkeeper for forty-eight years," he said. "I assure you, Miss, it was *never* low."Caleb stood against the wall with a bandage on his shoulder and a fresh dressing on both hands, drinking his own tea and watching the old man with something very like awe.Down the hall, behind a double door, surgeons were working on Alvarez's collarbone. Preston lay in a bed on the third floor with a cast on his arm and three broken ribs, still unconscious, a nurse standing guard by his pillow. The Mercer badge sat on the bedside table, polished clean."It's very kind
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