22. Micah #2
“The most recent complaint was four months ago,” Odin says.
“A fourteen-year-old boy in the school’s athletics program.
His parents reported to the school. The school conducted an internal review and concluded that the accusations were ‘unsubstantiated.’ The family was offered a partial scholarship refund and forced to sign a nondisclosure agreement. ”
“A partial refund?” Knox mutters.
“The family didn’t sign the NDA. They went to the police instead.
The case was dropped after three weeks. The detective assigned cited insufficient evidence and a ‘he said, he said’ scenario that wouldn’t hold up in court.
” Odin pauses. “That detective has since been identified as a St. Clement’s alumnus who sends his own children to the school. ”
“Fuck,” Eli curses.
“The family moved out of state. The boy has been hospitalized twice since. The father attempted to go to the press and was served with a cease-and-desist by the school’s legal team. He hasn’t spoken publicly since.”
Odin lets that sit.
“Webster’s current schedule has him running a preseason lacrosse clinic that begins in two weeks—right when fall term opens. Twelve boys, ages thirteen to sixteen. It’s residential. Five days on campus with overnight supervision provided by Webster and one assistant coach.”
“We can’t let that happen.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Agreed,” Odin says. “Timeline is tight. I want this done before the clinic begins. That gives you roughly eleven days to plan, surveil, and execute. Webster has a documented history of anxiety and was briefly prescribed medication for it three years ago, which gives us a plausible narrative.”
Odin stands, smoothing a hand down his jacket. “Get to work.”
He’s almost to the door when he pauses.
“Holden. The other matter we discussed at the hospital.” He doesn’t turn around. “Did you take care of it?”
Holden’s jaw locks. I watch it happen—the muscle ticking, the half-second where something moves behind his eyes and gets shut down. He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a curled-up folder. Thinner than the Webster dossier. Plain manila.
“Finished it last night,” Holden says, bending it flat. He slides it down the table.
Odin crosses back, picks it up, and flips it open with one finger. Whatever’s inside, he reads it for exactly two seconds before he closes it again.
But in those two seconds, the angle’s enough that I catch the top sheet. A name clipped to the corner.
Rosaline Gable.
Sage’s nurse. The student one who changed her dressings, held the line on her discharge, braided her hair when Sage couldn’t lift her own arms.
I look at Holden. He’s staring at a point on the wall like he’s trying to set it on fire. Whatever’s in that folder, he hated putting it there.
I don’t understand why Odin wants a file on someone like her.
“Thank you,” Odin says, tucking it inside his jacket. Then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Nobody moves for a long moment.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, unable to keep it in anymore.
Holden shakes his head. “Fucked if I know. Man has his reasons.” He shifts his attention to the file containing our target. “Our focus needs to be on this asshole.”
He flips between the photo—a square-jawed man with a coach’s tan and a practiced smile—and the list of complaints. Nine names. Nine kids who told someone, and nine times someone who should have protected them decided it was easier to look away.
My fingers curve into a fist.
“Surveillance starts tomorrow,” Eli decides. “Milo, I want his digital life opened up. Phone, email, cloud storage. If he’s got material, I want to know where it is before we move on him. We hand that to the authorities after the fact—anonymously—so the school can’t bury it again.”
“On it.” Milo nods.
“Knox, I want eyes on his house. Routine, patterns, when the wife and children are home versus when he’s alone. We don’t move when the family is present.”
Knox nods once.
“Holden, you work on the cover story. Figure out what we need to make this look airtight. I don’t want a single loose thread.”
“Understood,” Holden says.
“Micah.” Eli looks at me. “You’re on site logistics. Access points, security, cameras. The campus is gated, but I doubt it’s hardened. Find the gaps.”
“Done.”
With that sorted, Knox pushes back his chair and stands. “I’ll get Sage.”
“Knox.” Holden’s voice stops him. “Let Micah do it.”
Knox looks at me. I nod. He sits.
I push through the door and walk out to the bar. The main floor is empty, club locked, cameras live, security watching from the front corridor. The light over the bar is the only one on, casting a warm circle around the stool where Sage is sitting.
She’s got her phone on the bar top, face down. The drink in front of her is half finished. She’s peeling the label off a coaster with the focused patience of someone who’s been waiting a long time and has made peace with it.
She looks up when she hears me.
“What?” she says. Something in my expression has tipped her off. She’s always been able to read me faster than I’d like.
“Two things.” I come around the bar to take both her hands. “The first one you’re going to like. The second one you’re not.”
She sets her jaw. “Good news first.”
“You’re in. Odin approved it. But there’s a catch.”
Her grip tightens on my hands. Her eyes go wide and then bright and then glassy, and for a second I think she’s going to cry. She doesn’t. She presses her lips together, breathes through her nose, and nods once.
“Go on.”
“No field work until after your stalker is caught. You okay with that?”
“Do I get to be part of those meetings?”
“Yes.”
She grins. “Then I’m good. What’s the second thing?”
I keep my eyes on hers. The words taste like acid, and I deliver them as gently as I can.
“Fenrir found something.” I squeeze her hands. “Brock might not have been working alone. It looks like someone was helping him plan his assaults.”
Her face doesn’t change. Not at first. Then, very slowly, the color drains out of it, starting at her lips and working outward.
“I . . . I guess that makes sense, given the attack and the threats.” She blinks. “Do we know who?” she asks.
“Not yet. But we’re going to find out.”
She’s quiet for a long time. Her hands are shaking in mine. Then she pulls one free, picks up her drink, and finishes it in a single swallow.
“Show me everything,” she says.