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Chapter 13 - Ghosts in the City of Angels

The coffee in the DOJ’s Dallas field office was atrocious, but the wiretap transcripts on Mark Lawson’s desk were pristine.

"Vanessa Cole was admitted to Cedars-Sinai two nights ago with acute poison toxicity," Lawson explained, pacing slowly behind his desk while I sat opposite him. "It was framed as an overdose, but LAPD found trace amounts of heavy metals in her apartment's water filtration system. Someone wanted her quiet."

I felt a cold prickle along my spine. "Vanessa hasn't been relevant in eighteen months."

"She became relevant the moment she realized her Miami condo wasn't bought with Grant's stolen company money," Lawson said, tossing a surveillance photo onto the table.

It showed a grainy image of Vanessa entering a hotel in Beverly Hills, meeting a man whose face was obscured by a brimmed hat.

"Grant didn't have $1.7 million in liquidity when he set up that Delaware shell company," Lawson continued. "The money originated from an offshore account tied to Apex Sovereign Capital—and was authorized by Senator Robert Vance’s re-election PAC. Grant was laundering political kickbacks through Vanessa’s real estate in exchange for city construction permits."

I stared at the photograph, the pieces falling into place with terrifying precision. Grant hadn't just been an arrogant abuser—he had been a pawn in a far larger, far dirtier political game involving my father's old political circle.

"Why come to me?" I asked, looking up at Lawson.

Lawson stopped pacing and leaned against the edge of his desk, bringing him inches closer. There was a warmth beneath his stern demeanor—a grounded, observant intensity that I hadn't felt from a man in years.

"Because Vanessa refuses to talk to the FBI," Lawson said softly. "She’s terrified. But she gave us one condition for testifying against Senator Vance and the Apex network."

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"What condition?"

"She asked for you, Claire."

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