Chapter 7 Hades
CHAPTER SEVEN
hades
My gut churns as we walk into the downtown precinct, Isaacs leading us through a maze of cubicles.
"I want to be clear about something," she says as we settle around a scarred wooden table. "Officially, I'm not showing you anything. Officially, you were never here."
"Understood," I reply.
She slides a manila folder across the table. "Crime scene photos, witness statements, what little forensic evidence we managed to collect."
I open the folder, and the first photo hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest. Calla's bedroom, blood on the carpet where my sister died. I force myself to study it clinically, looking for details instead of drowning in rage.
"What about security footage?" Tempest asks. "Neighborhoods like that, there's got to be cameras everywhere."
Isaacs nods and pulls out a tablet, queuing up grainy black and white footage. "This is from a traffic cam three blocks away. The day before the murders."
On the screen, a white panel van moves through the intersection. No license plate visible from this angle, windows tinted too dark to see inside.
"The same van was spotted on two other cameras in the area," Isaacs continues. "Always at the edge of the surveillance coverage, never close enough to get plates or a clear view of the occupants."
"Professional," Tempest says quietly.
"Very. These guys knew the camera locations, knew how to avoid them while still maintaining sight lines to the house." Isaacs flips through the tablet to more footage. "This one's from the morning of the murders."
The van is parked across the street from Marcus and Calla's house, positioned where someone inside could watch the front door. The timestamp shows 6:47 AM.
"How long was it there?" I ask.
"Best we can tell, about three hours. Left around 9:30, came back at 11:15. Gone again by 1 PM."
Watching. Waiting. Learning the family's routine.
"What about the neighbors? Did anyone see anything unusual?"
Isaacs' expression darkens. "That's where things get interesting. Mrs. Farthington next door says she saw the van multiple times over the past two weeks. Says she almost called it in because it made her nervous."
"Almost?"
"Someone talked her out of it, told her it was probably just a contractor working on one of the other houses. Made her feel foolish for being paranoid."
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. "Someone talked to her about the van specifically?"
"A well-dressed man in an expensive car. He showed up at her door the day after she first noticed the van. Very polite, very reassuring. He told her there'd been some break-ins in the area and that everyone was just being extra cautious."
Tempest and I exchange glances. That's not how legitimate security works. That's how you silence witnesses.
"She give you a description of this guy?"
"White, forties, expensive suit. Drove a black BMW." Isaacs pauses. "Ring any bells?"
It does, but I'm not ready to share that information yet. Not until I'm sure.
"What else?" I ask instead.
Isaacs hesitates, glancing around the empty conference room. "Look, you didn't hear this from me, but word from upstairs is that this case is about to get deprioritized."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning budget constraints, limited resources, other priorities. The kind of administrative bullshit that happens when someone with influence doesn't want a case solved."
The confirmation of what I already suspected hits like ice water in my veins. Someone powerful wants my sister's murder to disappear into the bureaucratic maze of unsolved cases.
"There's something else," Isaacs says, her voice dropping even lower. "Your sister had been asking questions."
"What kind of questions?"
"About financial investigations. About how someone could track business dealings, shell companies, offshore accounts. She called our white-collar crime unit twice in the past month."
My blood turns to ice. Calla was looking into something financial. Something that got her killed.
"Did she say why?"
"Not directly. But she mentioned being concerned about someone close to the family. Someone whose business success seemed too good to be true."
The pieces start clicking into place, forming a picture I don't want to see but can't ignore.
"She hire anyone? Private investigator, forensic accountant?"
Isaacs nods and slides another piece of paper across the table. "Guy named Eddie Walsh. Small-time PI, mostly handles cheating spouses and insurance fraud. Calla paid him five grand two weeks ago."
Two weeks ago. Right around the time Evangeline said Calla seemed stressed and distracted.
"Walsh still around?"
"As of yesterday. His office is above a pawn shop on Broadway." Isaacs' eyes are serious. "But if I were you, I'd talk to him sooner rather than later. People connected to this case have a habit of becoming unavailable."
* * *
Eddie Walsh's office is small and cramped. The man himself looks like he's seen better decades, his rumpled suit hanging off a frame that's probably fifty pounds lighter than it was in his prime.
"Calla Peterson," he says when I show him her photo. "Sweet lady. Didn't deserve what happened to her."
"You were looking into something for her."
"Can't discuss client confidentiality, even if the client's..." He trails off, studying my cut. "You're the brother she mentioned. The one in the motorcycle club."
"That's right."
Walsh pours himself three fingers of bourbon from a bottle he keeps in his desk drawer. It's not even noon, but I'm not judging. We all have our ways of coping.
"She was scared," he says finally. "Not just worried, scared. Said she'd stumbled onto something that didn't add up, and when she started asking questions, it spooked the wrong people."
"What kind of something?"
"She was helping her sister-in-law with wedding stuff and found some statements that didn’t sit right." Walsh takes a long sip of bourbon. "Seems the future brother-in-law's business dealings weren't as clean as they appeared."
My hands clench into fists. "Ethan Morrison."
"That's the one. On paper, he's squeaky clean. Successful financial consultant, big clients, all the right connections. But your sister was smart. She noticed some things that didn't add up."
"Like what?"
"Guy makes two hundred a year tops. But he’s got a penthouse, six-figure cars, the works. It doesn’t add up." Walsh refills his glass. "So she asked me to dig a little deeper."
"What did you find?"
"Dozens of shell corps, all tied to his firm. Money’s moving in circles; laundering, plain as day." He pulls a file from his desk drawer and slides it across to me. "Your sister was right to be scared."
I flip through the records, bile rising. It’s all there, clear as blood on concrete—he’s not just dirty. He’s lethal.
"Money laundering?" Tempest asks, reading over my shoulder.
"Among other things. See the amounts? Just shy of the reporting line. Classic structuring to avoid detection."
My vision starts to go red around the edges. "What else?"
"That's where it gets really ugly. A couple of these outfits? They’re tied to real shit; trafficking, drugs, weapons…The whole fucking menu."
My vision goes red. I shove the file away like it’s burned me, pacing to the window with my fists clenched so tight my knuckles crack.
I’ve seen a lot of darkness in this world, but the thought of him, this polished snake in a thousand-dollar suit, touching her, using her family as cover for this filth.
I brace a hand on the windowsill, head down. If I don’t keep it together, I’ll break something.
"How much of this did you share with Calla?"
"All of it. She said she needed to warn her sister-in-law, needed to make sure she knew what kind of man she was planning to marry."
The timeline clicks into place. Calla found out about Ethan two weeks ago. She started asking questions, hired Walsh to investigate. Probably planned to tell Evangeline at some point, but wanted to be sure of her facts first.
And someone killed her before she could reveal the truth.
"You keep copies of everything?" I ask.
"Multiple copies. Hidden in multiple locations." Walsh's smile is grim. "I've been doing this long enough to know when a case might turn dangerous."
"Good. Keep them that way."
As we're leaving, Walsh calls out, "Hey. Your sister... she loved that girl like her own sister. She was terrified of what would happen if Morrison found out she was investigating him."
The words follow me out of the office, confirming what I already knew in my gut. Ethan didn't just have Calla and Marcus killed to silence them.
He had them killed to protect himself. To keep Evangeline from learning the truth about who he really was.
* * *
The clubhouse is quiet when Tempest and I return, most of the brothers either working or handling club business. I find Ghost in the chapel, going over books with Savage and Rogue.
"How'd it go?" Ghost asks, looking up from a stack of invoices.
"Worse than I thought." I drop the file from Walsh onto the table. "Calla was murdered because she found out her sister-in-law was engaged to a criminal."
The silence that follows is heavy with implications. Rogue leans forward, scanning the documents.
"Money laundering, trafficking connections, shell companies," he reads aloud. "This Ethan guy's dirty as hell."
"Gets worse. He had my sister and her husband killed to keep them quiet."
"Fuck," Savage breathes. "Does Evangeline know?"
"No. And she can’t. Not until we’re ready. If she confronts him too soon, he’ll bury her the way he buried Calla.”
A beat of silence.
Ghost's eyebrows rise. “She’s not going to like being kept in the dark.”
“She won’t. But she’ll be alive to hate me for it.”
"So what's the play?" Rogue asks.
I've been thinking about this since we left Walsh's office. "We investigate quietly. Build an airtight case. Make sure we have enough evidence to bury him completely before we make a move."
"That could take weeks," Tempest points out. "Maybe months."
"Better than getting her killed."
Rogue shoves a hand roughly through his hair. "This is all too fucking close to what happened with Ivy and Lochlann. Different names, same goddamn pattern. Could be an overlap. It’s worth checking."
Ghost sits back in his chair, studying the file. "This is dangerous territory, brothers. We're talking about going up against someone with serious connections. Money, influence, probably protection from people we don't want to piss off."
"So we be smart about it," I say. "Careful. But we don't back down."
"What about the cops? Isaacs seemed like good people."
"She is, but her hands are tied. Someone upstairs is already trying to bury the case. We can't count on official channels."
Savage rubs his jaw thoughtfully. "What do you need from us?"
"Everything you can give me. Manpower, resources, connections. This bastard killed my sister to protect his business. I'm going to make sure he pays for it."
"And Evangeline?" Ghost asks quietly.
That's the question that's been eating at me since I realized the truth. How do I protect her without destroying her world? How do I keep her safe while hunting the man she was planning to spend her life with?
"I keep her close. Keep her and the kids safe while we build the case."
"She's not going to like being kept in the dark."
"She's not going to like learning that her fiancé had her brother murdered either."
The truth of it settles over the room like a weight. There are no good choices here, only necessary ones.
"Whatever you need, brother," Tempest says finally. "She's family now."
The simple statement carries the weight of everything the club represents. Family, loyalty, protection. The bonds that hold us together when everything else falls apart.
"There's something else," I say, my voice rougher than I intended. "When this is over, when Ethan's dealt with, I want her to know the truth about everything. About how I feel, about what she means to me."
Ghost's expression is knowing but not unkind. "And if she doesn't feel the same way?"
"Then at least she'll be alive to make that choice."
It's not much of a plan, but it's all I've got. Keep Evangeline and the kids safe, build a case against the bastard who killed my sister, and try not to lose my mind in the process.
Simple.
Except nothing about this situation is simple. Not the investigation, not the danger, and definitely not the feelings I've been fighting for years.
But as I think about Evangeline at the funeral today, about the strength she showed standing up to Ethan, about the way she looks at those kids like they're her whole world, I know I'd do anything to protect that.
Even if it means keeping secrets that could destroy us both.
"Alright," Ghost says, closing the file. "Let's go hunting."