“The trade is simple,” Brandon said. “You give me the drive, and you walk out of here with this folder.”

“And what happens to Dr. Reeves?” I asked.

“He gets to keep his medical license,” Brandon said. “And his life. I’ll make sure of it.”

“And my daughter?”

“Emily will be granted a very generous, very quiet divorce,” Brandon said.

“With a substantial settlement, of course.”

He made it sound like a simple corporate merger.

He spoke of his brother’s violence and his mother’s corruption as if they were simple budget deficits.

I felt a deep, sickening disgust rising in my throat.

My hand remained in my jacket pocket, my fingers brushing the small tactical transceiver.

I knew exactly how this device worked.

It was connected to a dedicated military satellite.

With one press of the side button, it would stream high-definition audio to a secure server.

A server monitored by a federal joint task force I had quietly engaged three days ago.

They were waiting for hard evidence of federal crimes before they would intervene against a family as powerful as the Prescotts.