Chapter Forty-Three
D ean Hersey’s apartment was conveniently around the corner from the diner. They’d chosen the restaurant on purpose, since it was an easy walk to his place.
His four-story building was tucked down a treelined street. It would have been a good location, with a Ralphs down the road so he could easily shop and get back to his busy life—the same life that had been snatched cruelly away.
The apartment building exuded a cozy charm. Many of the units had balconies, and I also noticed a pool, a gym, and a communal seating area. I wondered if Dean had found happiness here.
Thinking about this was preferable to what we were heading toward—breaking into someone’s home was nerve-wracking. Even if Dean had dated Chad, it was still a potential crime scene. Dean’s body had been discovered in the L.A. River, with the sad conclusion he had fallen in and drowned. Dean gave up drinking twenty years ago and often boasted about his sobriety, according to Chad. And of course, it had also been Chad who had witnessed Dean getting into Lance Merrill’s car, right before he went missing.
Amelia had also drowned, so there was a pattern here.
“This doesn’t feel right,” I said, trying not to show my nervousness in front of them.
Chad looked at me, doubt showing on his face.
I had spent countless hours trying to imagine what it would feel like to step into the field for the first time. But nothing, not a single scenario I’d conjured, had prepared me for the thundering of my heart, or the knot of anxiety in my throat. It was as if I was doing something right, but at the same time, something terribly wrong.
We made it to Dean’s front door and stood silently for a moment, glancing at each other, as though to see if one of us would decide to back out.
“Okay,” Chad said. “Touch nothing.”
We were doing this.
Chad pulled a key from his pocket and opened the door.
It was a dreadful kind of excitement, breaking into someone’s apartment on the hunt for evidence. All guilt was pushed aside because I was doing this for Dean, the journalist who’d relentlessly pursued the truth.
Chad entered the apartment first, signaling for us to follow.
As we entered, I set my handbag down by the front door. Chloe did the same with hers.
The place was small. We were met with the underlying scent of an air freshener.
The hardwood floors had lost their shine, and then I realized they were lanolin. A clock on the wall had the wrong time, painfully marking Dean’s absence.
The open plan was tidy, with all the makings of a bachelor’s pad. Dim lighting cast a shadow over everything, a single barstool against the divider overlooking the kitchen. Perhaps Chad had sat there while Dean cooked for them.
I shuddered at the thought that Dean would never be able to return to his apartment.
A lingering coldness filled the rooms. Stacked books with their spines cracked littered a side table, well-worn paperbacks haphazardly spilled from shelves, and a few were perched on the arm of a recliner—a man’s life represented in the books he read.
Chad moved around the apartment, familiar with the surroundings, his eyes reflecting sadness as he recalled the memories made here.
I wanted to tell him how sorry I felt. Instead, I shared that sentiment with a comforting squeeze of his shoulder, trying to convey we would not let Dean’s life be forgotten.
Chad stared at an abandoned mug left on the kitchen counter.
“This is your first time back?” I asked.
Chad gave a nod.
In one corner, a sagging chair sat, its upholstery faded from the sun. Now the window blinds were shut.
The apartment had two bedrooms. Following Chad, we hurried into a tiny spare room that had been set up as an office. Made me wonder how his colleagues back at the office were coping, too.
Chad opened a filing cabinet by the desk and pulled out a beige folder. “It’s here.”
I hurried over as he opened the file and scattered the contents onto the desk’s surface.
“This is what he was working on,” Chad said.
Chloe saw the name on the file and glared at him. “You’re going to get us fired!”
He ignored her. “Yeah, well, that’s a better consequence, right?”
Better than death.
I scanned the papers and read the reason for Chloe’s ire.
She shook her head. “This is not right.”
They were bewildered to find files with Jewel Hadley’s name on them—but I wasn’t. At some point, Dean had printed out copies of private emails and photocopied private mail—which had all been sent to her at Pulse360.
“What is all this?” Chloe’s voice was strained.
“That’s why I got the job in the mailroom.” Chad’s admission was delivered with no emotion.
Chloe looked horrified. “Are you spying on our boss?”
I glanced at the papers, realizing what it meant. “You photocopied her mail?”
“Intercepted it, yes.”
Chloe shot him a panicked look. “That’s a crime, Chad. You realize that?”
He didn’t flinch.
“I can’t do this…” She backed out of the office.
I followed her, retracing my steps through the poorly lit hallway, vaguely unsettled by the plain walls, not one picture decorated the place. It felt stark.
I saw Chloe leave the apartment and I returned to the office. “Chad, she’s gone.”
“Course she is,” he said. “She’s Jewel’s favorite.”
“And now she knows what you’ve been up to, and that we were here.” I tried to fathom if he realized his mistake.
Surrounded by so much uncertainty, he didn’t seem to be thinking straight.
If any of this was discovered, we would lose our jobs. Perhaps face criminal charges, too.
We were facing a personal and professional disaster.
He glared at me as he pressed a fingertip to a printed email. “This one is classified. Wanna know why?”
“Chad, we have to go.”
“I have a right to be here.”
“What you’ve done is illegal. This is evidence.”
“And why wasn’t this found?”
I shook my head.
“Because no one cares,” he said softly.
I let out a heavy sigh. “Let me use my resources.” Perhaps Shay could help us figure this out.
“Jewel is untouchable.” He tapped the papers. “Otherwise, she would have been stopped by now.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
He turned away from me to continue searching through the papers, and I left him to it, moving back through the apartment to see if I could find other clues—the kind that were offered up without violating anyone’s privacy.
But I found nothing, just evidence of a single man’s life dedicated to his cause.
Returning to Dean’s office, I tried to read how Chad was coping.
He rose as though from a daydream. “She’s playing both sides.”
“Jewel?”
“She’s funding both political parties.”
“Doesn’t that come out in public records?”
“No, because it’s being collected from private donors. She’s using money linked to offshore accounts. The funds are routed through a labyrinthine network. Special initiatives. All without public oversight.”
God, if the public ever found this out, the consequences would be far reaching.
“That’s her hedging her bets,” he reasoned. “Influence on the reigning party no matter who wins.”
“This is what Dean had on her,” I said.
“Look.” He held up a notebook. “Jewel was involved in a government operation overseas.”
Inside were endless notations, though it was hard to read from here.
Chad continued. “An operation was disguised as humanitarian aid but was used to destabilize a country for geopolitical advantage.”
I eased the book out of Chad’s hands and flipped through the pages. A familiar name appeared, that of oil barren Lance Merrill, the man who was now dead.
Reading quickly, I realized Dean had uncovered Lance Merrill’s purchase of land in the very same country Jewel had destabilized.
I slapped a hand over my mouth.
“What?”
“This is dangerous to know.”
“It’s why they killed him.”
“Do you think they knew he had this?”
“He asked them about it, point blank.”
Which was suicide.
“Why would he blatantly put himself in harm’s way?” I couldn’t fathom the bravery.
“Because he was a brilliant journalist who cared about the issues that affected innocent people.”
“They got rich off the deaths of millions.” My throat tightened at the realization.
“War is profitable. When countries are decimated, in come the contractors.”
“But Jewel and Lance helped cause the war?”
“Then came in with profit on their minds.”
“Mass murder.” I hated this unbearable truth.
I had dreamed of offering the world so much, uncovering secrets that could change lives, make them better, but this was beyond us. This was the most dangerous discovery of all.
Chad tucked Dean’s notebook into his jacket pocket. He gave me a slow, steady smile, as though only now realizing he could trust me. It was a strange kind of bonding moment. As though all that had gone before us, the tension, his hatred for me, our misunderstandings, and even my privilege, had dissipated in these passing seconds.
The scale of what he had discovered was staggering. In these documents was proof Dean had gotten too close to exposing the truth.
“If you reveal this you would have to go into hiding,” I said. “But, if you release it anonymously, you might get some peace of mind. You would remain safe. It would be you finishing Dean’s work.”
“Maybe you could help me?”
I nodded. “If you like.”
We both heard footsteps in the living room, and Chad met my startled gaze and then mouthed, “Chloe?”
I gave a nod, hoping it was her.
Silence.
The hairs on my forearms started to prickle. If it was Chloe, why hadn’t she called out or come to see us? Why were we standing here over a minute later, looking toward the door, both of us sensing something was wrong?
I squeezed my eyes shut, recalling there was only one way in and one way out.
I moved closer to the doorway, with Chad following, and listened some more.
The information we had here was explosive. Maybe someone else was searching for it.
Chad tucked the notebook into his jacket pocket.
A shiver of dread crawled up my spine as I strained to listen, my heart hammering in my chest.
Then we heard heavy footsteps entering Dean’s bedroom.