"We received the authorization last night."
"From whom?"
"The deputy director's office."
"That's not what I asked."
The attorney looked down.
"We were told the order originated from the Office of Special Investigations."
"Which office?"
He hesitated.
Voss slammed a folder onto the table.
"Which office?"
"The order doesn't have a valid court number."
Silence.
Voss stared at him.
"Say that again."
"The document references a sealed proceeding, but the docket number doesn't exist."
Voss slowly sat down.
"Who approved the operation?"
"We don't know."
"You don't know?"
"No."
"Then why did six agents go to a sitting senator's house?"
The attorney looked terrified.
"Because the authorization came through an encrypted internal channel."
Voss leaned back.
"Show me."
The attorney opened his laptop.
The document appeared.
Voss read it.
His face went pale.
"Who generated this?"
"We're trying to determine that."
"How long have you known it was invalid?"
"Twenty minutes."
Voss stood.
"Call Danvers."
"He's already on scene."
"Then call him again."
The attorney hesitated.
"Sir?"
"What?"
"There's another problem."
Voss turned.
"The senator's security system uploaded everything."
Voss stared at him.
"Everything?"
"Audio and video."
"To where?"
"Private servers."
Voss closed his eyes.
For years, he had built his reputation on one principle:
Never create evidence you don't control.
Someone had violated that principle before breakfast.
And now a sitting senator had a recording of federal agents attempting to enter her home without valid judicial authority.
Voss looked at the screen again.
There was something else.
A signature.
A digital authorization attached to the operation.
He recognized it.
His expression hardened.
"Where did you get this signature?"
The attorney frowned.
"From the authorization."
"No."
Voss pointed.
"This isn't an authorization."
"What is it?"
Voss whispered:
"It's mine."
The Signature
The room went silent.
Voss stared at his own digital signature.
He had not signed the order.
Yet the encryption certificate was genuine.
Someone had used his credentials.
"Lock the system," he ordered.
The attorney looked confused.
"Sir?"
"Lock everything. Network access, internal messaging, document archives. All of it."
"But that could disrupt active investigations."
"I don't care."
Voss turned toward the door.
"Get cybersecurity."
The attorney moved quickly.
Voss remained alone for a moment.
Then his phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
He answered.
"Voss."
A distorted voice spoke.
"You should stop digging."
Voss froze.
"Who is this?"
"You already know."
"I don't."
"You signed the order."
"I did not."
A pause.
"Not intentionally."
The call ended.
Voss stared at the phone.
Then another message arrived.
One photograph.
A picture of Nia Caldwell standing on her porch.
Taken from across the street.
The message underneath contained four words:
She has the ledger.
Voss's expression changed.
He immediately understood.
The committee investigation.
The contractors.
The missing whistleblower.
The strange authorization.
Someone believed Nia possessed a ledger connecting several federal officials to a network of fraudulent contracts.
But there was something Voss didn't know.
Nia did not have the ledger.
Not yet.
She had something far more dangerous.
A witness.
At 9:04, Nia received an encrypted message from a number she did not recognize.
You don't know me.
A second message followed.
But they think you have what I gave you.
Nia stared at the screen.
Then:
Don't trust federal agents.
She typed:
Who are you?
The reply came immediately.
Someone who survived them.
Nia's pulse quickened.
Another message appeared.
Meet me at noon. Richmond Public Library. Basement entrance. Come alone.
Nia frowned.
Then came the final message.
Bring the brown briefcase.
Nia looked at the case on the table.
Whoever this person was, they knew exactly what the agents had come looking for.
And they knew about the briefcase.
The Basement
At 11:58, Nia entered the Richmond Public Library through the main doors.
She wore a dark blue blazer and carried the same brown briefcase.
She had changed nothing inside it.
Marcus had strongly advised her not to go.
Nia had ignored him.
Not recklessly.
Carefully.
She had notified the security supervisor.
She had arranged for a second attorney to monitor her location.
And she had copied the encrypted files to three separate servers.
If someone wanted the evidence, they would not find it in one place.
She descended the stairs to the basement.