Chapter 32
CARRIE
It’s been months since everything crashed down and rebuilt itself around us. The days blend together now—court hearings, phone calls, the quiet ache of waiting. The guys are still in custody, and every morning I wake up wondering if today will be the day something changes.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing out my hair, trying to make myself look put together.
I’m five months along now, and it’s starting to show, even with the loose blouse I pick out.
My hand settles over my belly. I’m plus-sized, so the bump is softer, rounder, but it’s there—undeniable, living proof of everything I’ve survived and everything I’m still fighting for.
My phone buzzes on the counter. Marcy’s name flashes on the screen. I hesitate for a moment, not sure I have the energy to deal with her nervous energy, but then I pick up. “Hey.”
“I’m waiting for you at the curb,” she says, her voice softer than usual. “I’ll drive. Don’t keep me out here, it’s freezing.”
She’s moved out of her old place but hasn’t left town. It’s easier that way, easier for both of us to keep an eye on each other, even when it hurts. I grab my coat, run a brush through my hair, and take one last look at my reflection. I force myself to see the strength there, not just the changes.
Part of me wants to beg off, say I’ll just drive myself, but I know I can’t do today alone. I slip on my sandals and make my way downstairs, squinting in the morning sunlight.
When I get outside, Marcy is parked by the curb, waving from behind the wheel of her little hatchback. I slide in beside her, tucking my coat around my belly.
“Big day today,” she says quietly.
I nod, biting back a thousand fears.
Marcy drives quietly for a few blocks, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
The sun is bright on the windshield, turning the world outside almost too sharp to look at.
I catch my reflection in the side mirror—round cheeks, tired eyes, one hand resting on my belly—and I wonder how I’m going to get through this day.
I glance at my sister. I still feel guilty about leaving her in the woods. But paramedics picked her up right after, and it’s not like I could be seen at the hospital where cops could easily spot me. Marcy understood when I went by to see her later.
Marcy finally breaks the silence. “You look good, you know. You’re really showing now.”
I give a half smile. “I feel huge. My back hurts. My feet are swollen. And I don’t think I slept more than three hours.”
She glances over, something soft in her eyes. “You’re strong, Carrie. I don’t think I could do what you’ve done. What you’re still doing.”
I shrug, but her words settle somewhere deep. “I don’t have a choice, do I? We just keep going.”
We fall quiet again as the courthouse comes into view, tall columns, flags snapping in the wind, clusters of people gathered on the steps. My heart starts to race. I think of Jace, Levi, Nico, and even Whale, waiting somewhere inside for whatever comes next.
The courthouse lobby buzzes with nervous energy—lawyers hurrying by, families clutching coffee cups, deputies shifting behind the security desk. Marcy and I pause just inside, scanning the crowd. Wilson spots us first, waving from a bench near the courtroom doors.
He stands as we approach, straightening his jacket. “Glad you both made it,” he says, voice gentle. “They’ll call us in soon. Marcy, you’re on the list as an independent witness, just like Carrie.”
Marcy nods, jaw set, trying to look braver than she feels.
Wilson gives me a reassuring look. “The judge is fair. You did everything right.”
My heart pounds as the bailiff opens the doors. We move inside, taking our seats near the front, the room quiet but tense. I search the benches for familiar faces and see the press clustered in the back, notepads in hand.
The side doors open and the three men are brought out—Jace, Levi, and Nico—each wearing clean, pressed clothes that don’t quite hide the strain in their faces. They look thinner, older, but when Jace meets my eyes, his mouth twitches in a small, hopeful smile. My heart squeezes.
Jinn isn’t here. He was already sentenced a few weeks ago. I didn’t show up but Marcy did. She was brave enough to outline the details of all his crimes, and thanks to her, they recovered the money that Jinn had smuggled in the rented penthouse where stayed.
The judge enters, and everyone rises. My knees nearly buckle with nerves, but Marcy squeezes my hand under the table.
Wilson Decker rises from the defense table, adjusts his glasses, and faces the judge with the careful confidence of a man who has lived through more than one legal war.
The courtroom is quiet, every head turned his way.
Even the reporters in the back seem to sense that this isn’t just another day in court.
“Your Honor,” Wilson begins, voice clear and steady, “I move to dismiss all charges against my clients, Levi Maren, Jace Calhoun, and Nico Maren. The case before you is built on a chain of government coercion, manipulation of a key witness, and conduct by federal law enforcement that goes far beyond the spirit or letter of the law.”
He lets that settle for a moment, then walks toward the jury box.
“Let’s begin with the facts. My client, Ms. Carrie Saxe, was approached repeatedly by Agent Rodriguez of the ATF.
She was pressured—by direct threat, by suggestion, and by false promises—to take a job at the state prison.
She was told that her participation would help bring down a dangerous criminal organization.
What she was not told, Your Honor, is that Agent Rodriguez was himself involved with the very suspects he was meant to investigate. ”
Wilson turns, nods to me. “You’ve heard Ms. Saxe’s testimony, how she was manipulated, how Agent Rodriguez made her believe her cooperation was necessary for her own safety, her family’s safety, and even to protect her unborn child.
These are not the tactics of honest law enforcement.
These are tactics meant to break the will of a frightened citizen and to fabricate evidence against men who had already been marked for destruction. ”
He pauses, then gestures to the stack of exhibits on the evidence table.
“You have before you text messages, phone records, audio recordings, and security footage that demonstrate not just the collusion between Agent Rodriguez and the known criminal, Jinn Parker, but also the pattern of threats against my client and against their legal counsel, myself included. We have emails where Rodriguez threatens to ruin reputations. We have video of Rodriguez meeting with Jinn Parker at a restaurant, where—thanks to Ms. Saxe’s warning—federal authorities were able to verify his presence at the scene.
The footage was not produced by law enforcement.
It was kept hidden until Ms. Saxe came forward.
That alone should cast doubt on the integrity of this investigation. ”
Wilson’s voice is starting to carry, filling the courtroom with every word.
“Jinn Parker has already been sentenced for his crimes. His life sentence without parole came after the truth of his association with Rodriguez was brought to light. Yet my clients, who did everything in their power to expose the corruption and protect innocent people, remain on trial for the very crimes orchestrated by a corrupt federal agent.”
He steps closer to the bench, meeting the judge’s eyes.
“Your Honor, the state’s own case cannot stand without the poisoned tree planted by Rodriguez.
Every witness who testified against my clients, every bit of evidence the prosecution presents, flows directly from his misconduct.
And, most egregiously, from the government’s manipulation of Ms. Saxe, an innocent woman used as a pawn in a federal agent’s scheme. ”
He breathes, lets the silence deepen. “Justice demands the dismissal of these charges. The system cannot hold citizens to account for acts committed under coercion, intimidation, and outright criminal manipulation by its own officers.”
For a moment, there’s only the hush of the air vents and the scratch of pens.
The prosecutor rises, buttoning his jacket.
He moves to the podium, face set in a mask of professional neutrality.
“Your Honor, the defense presents a compelling narrative, but the law does not grant immunity simply because law enforcement was aggressive. The ATF’s investigation was under intense pressure.
While Agent Rodriguez’s actions were out of line, and he has already been removed from the agency and faces his own charges, that does not mean all evidence or all witness testimony is tainted.
The jury is entitled to hear what happened and to weigh the credibility of the witnesses, including Ms. Saxe. ”
He spreads his hands, turning to the jury. “This is not a question for a judge to decide at this stage. It is a question of fact, of credibility. Let the people’s representatives weigh the evidence.”
He sits, and the judge folds her hands on the bench, eyes unreadable. For a long moment, she reviews her notes, the exhibits, everything Wilson placed in front of her.
Then she speaks, voice steady, but not unkind.
“Mr. Decker, the court is deeply concerned about the conduct of Agent Rodriguez and the circumstances under which Ms. Saxe was drawn into this investigation. These allegations are troubling and will be carefully considered by the court and by the jury. However, as a matter of law, these questions go to the weight of the evidence—not its admissibility. The motion to dismiss is denied.”
Wilson just gives a small nod, jaw clenched, and returns to the table. “We’re not finished,” he whispers, just for me.