We had served in the same Marine infantry battalion before he went into federal law enforcement.

The phone rang three times before he answered.

“Vance,” he said.

“Marcus, it’s Daniel Reed,” I said.

There was a brief pause on the line.

“Daniel. It’s been a long time. I heard about your wife. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t have much time, Marcus,” I said. “I have undeniable proof of her murder. I have video of my mother administering a lethal injection.”

I heard the sound of papers shifting on his end of the line.

“Say that again,” Vance said.

“My mother killed Emily,” I said. “And the local sheriff covered it up. I have the video, and I have the financial ledgers showing the payoffs.”

“Where are you now?” Vance asked, his tone turning sharp and professional.

“Driving south on the coastal highway,” I said. “Wade knows I have it. The whole town is compromised.”

“Do not go to the local authorities,” Vance said. “If the sheriff is involved, you are not safe anywhere in that county. I can initiate an emergency federal intervention, but there is a major complication.”