Outside, the night was quiet. The stars were sharp overhead, indifferent to the drama that had unfolded beneath them.
It was over.
For now.
But as Wyatt followed the others out of the mill, leaving the coin behind in the darkness, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning.
His father was still out there.
And now he knew exactly where to find his son.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
FBI Internal Affairs descended within hours of Keller's arrest, a swarm of dark suits and hard expressions taking over the conference room Sam usually used for staff meetings. Agents Jo didn't recognize conducted interviews, reviewed files, demanded access to everything from security footage to personnel records.
Word had spread fast. A federal agent arrested by local cops. Charges of corruption, conspiracy, murder. The kind of story that made careers and ended others.
Reese fielded calls at the front desk with the patience of a saint, directing reporters to "no comment" and curious citizens to an official statement that didn't exist yet. Major had retreated to the top of the highest filing cabinet, watching the chaos with feline disdain.
And Lucy—Lucy stayed pressed against Sam's leg, a low growl building in her chest every time a new agent walked past.
Dawn light crept through the station windows, pale and thin. None of them had slept. Jo doubted any of them would for a while.
She stood near Sam's office, watching the controlled chaos unfold. Kevin had taken Bridget home hours ago—she didn'tneed to be here for this, and Kevin needed to be the one to tell her it was over. That they'd won.
Had they won?
Keller was in a holding cell, refusing to speak without his lawyer. The syndicate man—who still hadn't given a name—was in the cell beside him, equally silent. The evidence box sat in the conference room, logged and documented, chain of custody preserved.
And Wyatt was in a small room they’d turned into an interview room telling his story to people who had the power to destroy him.
The interview roomfelt smaller than it ever had before.
Wyatt sat on the wrong side of the table—the side reserved for suspects, for criminals, for people whose lives were about to change forever. His hands were flat on the metal surface, palms down, like he was trying to anchor himself to something solid.
Across from him, Agent Drake from Internal Affairs reviewed her notes with the kind of precision that made his skin crawl. She was sharp, thorough—exactly the kind of investigator you wanted on your side and never wanted pointed at you.
Right now, she was very much pointed at him.
“Let’s go through it again,” Drake said. Her voice was neutral, professional. Giving nothing away. “From the beginning. When did your father first make contact?”
Wyatt had already told the story twice. Each time felt like peeling off another layer of skin.
“Three weeks ago. A body in my trunk. Cooper.” He kept his voice steady, mechanical. Facts. Just give them facts. “I didn’t know it was Cooper at first. Just knew it was a message. My father’s way of saying he’d found me.”
“And you didn’t report it.”
“I should have.” Wyatt’s jaw tightened. “I know that. But my mother—she’s at risk. If I’d come forward, if I’d done the right thing, he would have killed her. He made that very clear.”
Drake made a note. “So you complied with his demands.”
“I stalled. Altered some digital records. Deleted searches that were getting too close to information he wanted buried.” The words tasted like ash. “I never gave him what he really wanted. The physical evidence—the box cutter—I couldn’t make myself cross that line.”
“But you were prepared to. Tonight. You signed that evidence out of lockup.”
“As part of a sanctioned operation.” Wyatt leaned forward. “Chief Mason knew. Detective Harris knew. We set a trap. I was the bait.”
“A trap that nearly got you killed.”