Chapter 32
thirty-two
Angelina
"And today we find out if I'm right."
Agent Dennis Holloway stands at the head of the conference table, arms crossed. Mid-forties, salt-and-pepper hair cut regulation-short, suit that says government salary but tailored well enough to suggest he cares about appearances.
CPG's conference room looks like every corporate security firm I've toured during threat assessments.
Glass walls, neutral carpet, a table long enough to seat twenty.
Equipment cases line one wall in neat rows, the only hint that "Centurion Protection Group" does more than executive security and risk management.
"Judge Castellano." Kade nods toward Holloway. "Agent Holloway, FBI counterintelligence. He's had suspicions about Monroe for months, but couldn't prove anything until Vanessa's data gave us the paper trail."
Holloway extends his hand. His grip is firm, assessing. "Kade's told me about your rulings. The Torres case. Impressive sentencing."
"I had good evidence to work with."
"You had leverage. You used it." He nods once. "Not everyone does."
"Victoria?" I ask Kade.
"Damian's with her. She's not going anywhere."
Movement at the door pulls my attention.
Cole walks in.
And I—
Oh.
Charcoal wool. The jacket fits him like it was made for his body alone, broad through the chest, narrowing at the waist. No tie. Top button undone, exposing the hollow of his throat. That small concession to informality makes the rest of it sharper by contrast.
He moves the same way. Controlled. Each step deliberate, weight centered, the economy of motion I've watched for weeks now. But wrapped in fabric that looks like it cost someone's monthly salary, he looks like something else entirely. Something that belongs in boardrooms and private clubs.
"Monroe's ten minutes out." Cole's voice cuts through the room. He's addressing Kade, but his gaze finds me. Holds. "Holloway's team has eyes on him."
"Good." Kade checks something on his tablet. "We're set."
I realize I'm staring.
"I didn't know you owned a suit."
Cole's dark eyes don't leave mine. "I own several."
Heat crawls up my neck. "You could have mentioned that."
"You never asked."
The corner of his mouth curves. Brief. Gone before it fully forms.
The same hands that tied me to the headboard are adjusting his cuffs now. Same man. Different armor.
I force my attention back to Holloway. "How confident are you that Monroe will cooperate?"
"He'll cooperate." Holloway glances at his phone. "Man thinks he's climbing the ladder. Thinks we're bringing him in on something bigger than his pay grade."
"And when he realizes he's not?"
"Then we remind him that falsifying federal access logs carries the same sentence as the underlying crimes he enabled." I keep my voice even. "Felony murder doctrine. Every judge who died because of intelligence he provided—that's on him."
Holloway's eyebrows lift slightly. "Kade said you'd be useful."
"I've sat through worse negotiations than this."
Cole rounds the table, settling into the chair beside mine. Close enough that I catch cedar underneath something sharper. Cologne. He's wearing cologne.
When did he put that on? This morning, while I was getting Chesca ready for school?
The door opens.
Monroe walks in. He's in his mid-forties, fit without being remarkable, the kind of face that would vanish in a crowd photo. Built to blend.
His eyes sweep the room. Land on Kade, then Holloway, then—
He sees me. Registers Cole beside my chair.
"Dennis." Monroe's voice carries federal agent confidence, but something underneath it shifts. "What is this? You said DeLuca's supply chain."
"Sit down, Richard." Holloway's tone allows no room for negotiation.
A beat. Monroe sits.
His gaze moves between us, reading, calculating. "Who are these people?"
"Concerned parties." Kade slides the first file across the table.
Monroe doesn't open it. Yet.
"Offshore account. Caymans. Opened six years ago." Kade's voice is measured, factual. Not accusing. Just presenting data.
Monroe's face stays controlled. Trained. "I don't know what you're implying."
"I'm not implying anything." Kade slides a second file. "Federal database access logs. Your credentials. Eight judges, files pulled within seventy-two hours of their deaths."
Monroe's jaw tightens. First crack.
"That's circumstantial. I work these cases. Of course I accessed their files—"
"Before they were assigned to you." Holloway leans forward. "Before anyone knew they'd need investigating."
Silence.
"This is ridiculous." Monroe pushes back from the table. "I want my lawyer."
"You can have one." I set my coffee cup down. "But the access timestamps create a pattern. Predictive rather than reactive. Any competent prosecutor will argue foreknowledge. And foreknowledge of a murder makes you an accessory."
Monroe looks at me. Really looks this time.
"Judge Castellano." His voice drops into condescension. "You're outside your jurisdiction here."
"I'm providing legal assessment. Agent Holloway requested it."
"I did." Holloway's confirmation lands flat. Final.
Monroe's eyes move to Cole. Sitting. Silent. Watching.
"And him?"
"Security consultant." Cole's voice is quiet.
"For who?"
Cole doesn't answer. The silence is its own answer.
Monroe's breathing changes. Faster. His hands flatten against the table, then grip the edge.
"Here's where we are, Richard." Kade leans back in his chair. "Holloway can arrest you now. Access logs, financial trail, pattern analysis. It's enough for an indictment."
"It won't hold—"
"Or." Kade doesn't raise his voice. "You can help us understand the bigger picture."
Monroe's laugh comes out strangled. "You don't know what you're asking."
"Enlighten us."
"These people..." His voice cracks. "You think I'm the problem? I'm nobody. I pull files. I send them up. That's it. I don't know what happens after."
His hands are shaking now. Not from us.
"Then be smart." Holloway's badge sits on the table between them. "Tell us who you're sending them to."
Monroe stares at the badge. At the files. At us.
His Adam's apple bobs when he swallows.
"I need immunity."
Holloway glances at Kade. Something passes between them.
"That depends on what you give us." Kade's voice doesn't promise anything. "And how cooperative you are."
"Full immunity. Witness protection." Monroe's hands press flat against the table, trying to stop the tremor. "Or I'm dead in a week."
Cole shifts beside me. Not much. Just enough.
Monroe sees it. Flinches.
"Who do you send the files to?" Kade asks.
"I don't know. I've never met them. Never heard a name.
" Monroe's professional mask is gone. Raw survival underneath.
"Everything goes through encrypted channels.
Cryptocurrency payments. Dead drops. I pull the data, I send it to a secure server, money appears in my account. That's the arrangement."
"The offshore account."
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Six years." Monroe swallows. "Since right after the Moreno case. Someone approached me. Said they needed access to federal systems. Said it would never trace back."
"And you believed them."
"They paid enough for me to believe whatever I wanted."
I watch him, this federal agent who sold judicial schedules for cryptocurrency. Who enabled fourteen murders for money that appeared in an offshore account.
I've signed off on worse.
The thought surfaces before I can stop it. Uncle Sal's "suggestions" that became my rulings. The cases I didn't examine too closely. The judgeship that came with strings I pretended were ribbons.
Monroe's hands are shaking. Mine are steady.
I'm not sure which of us should feel more ashamed.
"What do you know about the targets?" Kade presses. "Why these specific judges?"
"I don't choose them. I just pull what they ask for, court schedules, rotation assignments, security details." Monroe shakes his head. "I assumed it was competitive intelligence. Law firms wanting an edge. I didn't know anyone was dying until—"
"Until you saw the pattern," Holloway finishes. "And kept pulling files anyway."
Monroe doesn't deny it.
"You were on a list," he says suddenly. Looking at me.
The room narrows.
Not slowly, all at once. Like someone cinched a belt around my lungs and pulled.
A list.
"Three weeks ago. They requested everything on you. Court schedule, home address, security arrangements." Monroe's voice has gone flat. Reciting. "Then they asked for more. Medical records. Personal history. They wanted to know about your daughter."
Cole's hand finds my thigh under the table. Not gentle—gripping. I feel the tremor in his fingers. The control it's costing him to stay seated.
"What else?" His voice has dropped to something I barely recognize.
Monroe's eyes flick to him. Away. Can't hold.
"I heard there were problems. With the first approach." He swallows. "They were discussing alternatives. But then I was cut out. They stopped trusting me." He shrugs. "Whether they actually moved forward with anything, I don't know."
The problem.
My hands are flat on the table. The wood grain presses sharp against my palms. Real. Solid.
They discussed making me disappear. They wanted information about my daughter.
"When?" I ask. Court voice. The mask I've worn for years. "When were these discussions?"
"Two weeks ago. Maybe three." Monroe shrugs like it doesn't matter. Like my life is a scheduling conflict. "After that, silence. They stopped contacting me when the FBI started asking questions."
Silence. Because they're regrouping. Or because the plan fell apart.
"What do you know about their operations?" Kade's voice cuts through. Pulling us back to intel. "Locations. Infrastructure."
Monroe hesitates. Calculating what's worth trading.
"There's a safe house. East Oakland. They move people through it—girls, mostly." He wipes his palms on his slacks. "I have the address."
"How current?"
"Active as of three days ago. They rotate locations, but this one's been stable. Something about a timeline."
"Timeline for what?"
"I don't know. But something's accelerating. More requests. More urgency." Monroe shakes his head. "Whatever they're building toward, it's soon."
Soon.
"Give us the address." Holloway slides paper across the table.
Monroe writes. Careful federal handwriting. Coordinates that might mean everything.
"This is the location. Rotation scheduled for Friday."
"Four days." Kade takes the paper.
"If you're going in, go before then." Monroe sets the pen down. "And don't tell anyone I gave you this. Not your bosses, not your contacts. Nobody." His voice cracks again. "They have people everywhere."
Holloway glances at the address. "I'll coordinate."
"And my protection?"
"Starts when you walk out with me." Holloway stands. "Let's go. Paperwork."
Monroe rises. Doesn't look at any of us.
The door closes behind them.
Silence fills the room.
Kade sets the paper on the table. "Four days before rotation."
Cole hasn't released my thigh. His grip has loosened slightly, but the tremor is gone. Controlled again. "We prep tomorrow. Full team brief."
"Agreed." Kade reaches for his phone. "Asher and Jax on surveillance. Damian on contingencies."
I stare at Monroe's handwriting. East Oakland. A place where girls are moved through like cargo.
Like Rose.