Chapter 24
Nevada. Utah. Idaho.
Three states spread across Izzy's monitors that afternoon, pattern analysis software highlighting similarities she wished she couldn't see. Seven med-evac companies, all forced to sell to MedFlight after mysterious mechanical failures.
Her eyes burned as she stared at the third screen. "This isn't just about Mountain Angel," she said, voice rough from hours of silence.
Cory looked up from his own screen where he'd been reviewing inspection reports. "How many?"
"Seven companies in three years. All small, community-funded operations. All experienced maintenance issues that led to bankruptcy or forced sales." She pulled up the comparison charts. "Look at the tool marks. Same angles, same pressure points."
"Whoever coached Brad’s been busy."
The proximity alarm chimed, interrupting her before she could respond. The security monitor showed two familiar figures in dark suits striding toward the huge hangar’s man-door.
"FBI's back," Cory said, already standing. "They don't look happy."
That was an understatement. When Izzy headed down to let them in, Debartolo and Preston entered like storm clouds, faces set in expressions that made her stomach drop.
Debartolo didn't bother with pleasantries."Ms. Reyes, this is a courtesy call to inform you that we've obtained a federal warrant to freeze your assets pending investigation."
The words hit like physical blows. "What?"
Preston dangled official-looking papers with obvious satisfaction. "All bank accounts, investment accounts, and liquid assets are hereby frozen pursuant to federal conspiracy charges."
"Conspiracy?" Izzy's voice cracked. "I haven't conspired with anyone."
"Really?" Debartolo's smile was sharp. "Because we found something interesting at Brad Houzer's residence. A Visa gift card receipt. Five thousand dollars."
Her heart hammered against her ribs. The receipt she'd photographed. Of course they'd found it.
"Funny thing," Preston continued, circling like a shark. "You were at his cabin before our team. Find anything else you'd like to share?"
"We were following a lead," Cory interjected. "Which we reported immediately."
Izzy forced herself to stay calm. They were fishing. They had to be.
"How am I supposed to live?" The practical reality crashed over her. "Pay for lawyers? Fight the custody case?"
"Should have thought of that before conspiring with Houzer." Preston's dismissal was casual, cruel. "Federal investigation takes precedence over personal problems."
"She's under my protective custody," Cory said, stepping forward. "Her expenses are covered."
The agents exchanged looks that made Izzy's skin crawl.
Debartolo shook his head. "Careful, Chief Fraser. Aiding and abetting is a career-ender. We'd hate to see Hope Landing need a new police chief."
"Is that a threat?" Cory's voice had gone dangerously quiet.
"Just friendly advice," Preston added. "Have a nice day."
They left with the satisfied air of cats who'd cornered mice. Izzy sank into her chair, legs suddenly unable to support her.
"My accounts. All of them?" She pulled out her phone with numb fingers, checking her banking app. Already updated. Available balance: $0.00.
"Chantal's college fund. My emergency savings. The Christmas money I'd set aside—" Her voice broke. "I have eighty-seven dollars in my wallet. That's it."
"Izzy—"
"How can they do this?" She was on her feet now, pacing. "No trial, no conviction, just freeze everything? What if Chantal needs something? What if there's an emergency?"
"There won't be." Cory caught her shoulders, stilling her frantic movement. "You're not alone in this. Your expenses are covered. I meant that. Plus, you’ve got your Knight Tactical family. No one is going to let this affect anything you need. For you or your family."
"I can't take your money—"
"You're not taking. I'm giving." His hands were steady on her shoulders, grounding her. "That's what partners do.”
The word 'partners' settled something in her chest, even as pride warred with necessity. Plus, she had her team. No way they’d let this stand. It might be a while, but she’d get her funds back.
One way or another.
Still, the timing…. If Andrew found out she was technically broke….
"Let's get back to work," she said, needing action over emotion. She and her team had taken down worse baddies without Cory’s help. Whoever was doing this had no chance.
They dove back into the analysis with renewed determination.
The patterns were damning. Tool marks similar to the ones on the servo Brad worked on matched not just Mountain Angel, but every sabotage case across three states.
But there was no evidence that Houzer had worked on any of the aircraft but the Mountain Angel planes.
Izzy pulled up timelines. “We’ve got another issue. Look at the inspection reports for all these companies."
Tom Morrison's name appeared again and again. Not on every case, but enough to establish a pattern. And his reports always found "safety concerns" just before the sabotage hit.
"That's one suspect." She added Tom's name to their board. "Who else benefits?"
"Reed Osgood." Cory pulled up financial records. "He was lead FAA investigator on five of these seven cases. Always rules them mechanical failure."
"Convenient." She added Reed's name. "And then there's—"
"Sloane Barnes-Nakamura." They said it together.
Every single company that failed ended up absorbed by corporations connected to MedFlight. Not always directly—sometimes through subsidiaries or partners—but Sloane's fingerprints were on every acquisition.
"Three suspects," Izzy said. "All with motive. But no solid evidence against any of them."
A knock interrupted her thoughts. The security monitor showed Tom and Janet Morrison at the door.
"Speaking of suspects," Cory muttered.
Tom looked haggard when they let him in, Janet hovering at his elbow like a concerned shadow.
"We heard about the FBI visit," Tom said without preamble. "This is getting out of hand."
"How did you hear?" Izzy kept her voice neutral.
"Small town," Janet answered, her sympathy seemingly genuine. "Word travels. This must be so stressful. Your poor daughter."
Something in the way she said 'daughter' made Izzy's hackles rise.
"We're managing," Cory said firmly.
"Of course." Janet touched Tom's arm. "We just wanted you to know not everyone believes these ridiculous accusations."
"Actually," Tom shuffled his feet, "I wanted to apologize. My reports might have contributed to this mess. If I'd been more thorough—"
"Tom, stop." Janet's voice carried gentle reproach. "You can't blame yourself for doing your job."
"I should have caught the sabotage—"
"How could you? You're an insurance investigator, not a criminal detective." Janet turned to Izzy. "He's been beating himself up. Barely sleeping."
"It's not your fault," Izzy heard herself saying, even as she noted Tom's tells. Was his distress genuine or performance? She wished Kenji was here. He’d know.
"Of course." Janet's smile never wavered. "Well, we should go."
After they left, Izzy slumped against the door. How much worse was this nightmare going to get? Cory was right. Her friends would float her whatever funds she needed. Or they’d reimburse Cory the minute they had a chance. It wasn’t that. It was the sheer weight of it all….
She headed back upstairs. "I'm making dinner. I cook when I'm stressed."
"I noticed." His small smile took any sting from the words. "What can I do?"
"Chop vegetables. And tell me we're going to solve this."
They worked in comfortable synchronization. Izzy found comfort in the routine—dice the onions, mince the garlic, sear the chicken. Normal actions while her world crumbled.
"What about my mortgage?" she asked suddenly.
"I'll handle it."
"You can't pay my mortgage—"
"I can and I will." He set down the knife, facing her. "Someone's trying to destroy you. Financial pressure is part of their strategy. No way they win."
Tears pricked her eyes. When was the last time someone had simply stepped up for her? No questions, no conditions, just support?
She set dinner out on the kitchen island. As Cory reached for his fork, he paused.
"Mind if I say grace?"
"Please." The word came out before she could overthink it.
He extended his hand across the table. After a moment's hesitation, she took it, his palm warm and calloused against hers.
"Lord, thank You for this food, for safety in the storm. Help us find truth and justice. Protect Chantal and Luz wherever they are. Guide our steps. Give us wisdom to see clearly and strength to stand firm. Amen."
"Amen," she echoed, not immediately releasing his hand.
"My dad used to say grace," she found herself admitting. "Every meal, no matter how simple. Even just sandwiches, he'd pause and give thanks."
"What happened to him?"
"Car accident when I was twelve. After that, Mom tried to keep the tradition, but it felt hollow. Like we were going through the motions." She pulled her hand back, needing distance. "Eventually we just stopped."
"I'm sorry."
"He would have liked you." The words surprised her. "The whole integrity thing. Standing for what's right even when it costs."
"High praise." Cory's voice was gentle. "Thank you."
They finished eating in comfortable silence, then returned to the monitors.
Three suspects stared back from their board—Tom Morrison with his convenient inspection reports, Reed Osgood with his pattern of mechanical failure findings, Sloane Barnes-Nakamura with her corporate tentacles in every buyout.
"Whoever this is knows me," Izzy said quietly. "Really knows me. My jacket, my routines, what buttons to push with Andrew and custody."
"We'll find them." Cory's certainty was a lifeline. "They're getting sloppy. The FBI visit proves that—they're pushing too hard, too fast."
Her phone buzzed. Another notice. Credit card payment declined. Then another—utility auto-pay failed.
The walls were closing in, just as their enemy intended.
But as she looked at Cory, steady and determined beside her, something fierce rose in her chest. They wanted to isolate her, break her, make her vulnerable.
They'd miscalculated.
Because she had never been less alone.