*Suspect Ethan Prescott was located in the master bedroom, exhibiting aggressive behavior and covered in dark red stains consistent with blood.*

The next page had a statement from an officer named Davis.

He wrote that the victim, Melissa, had defensive wounds on her hands.

And then, there was a handwritten note scrawled in the margin.

*Case closed per order of Chief of Police. Transfer files to private custody.*

The Prescott family had buried the truth deep.

I started the engine and put the car in drive.

I needed to find Dr. Reeves.

He was the only one who could verify the financial records on the drive.

I drove through the dark, rainy streets of Charlotte toward the hospital.

The clock on the dashboard read 10:45 PM.

My phone suddenly buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, keeping one eye on the slick road.

It was a restricted number.

I pressed answer and put it to my ear.

“Hart,” I said.

A frantic voice came through the speaker.

“Colonel, it’s Dr. Reeves,” he gasped.

He sounded out of breath, his voice trembling with fear.