Ross smiled strangely.
“Then ask your commission who signed the first Northstar contract.”
Marcus stopped.
Ross started laughing.
Marcus already knew the answer.
The first contract had been approved five years earlier.
Before Marcus chaired the commission.
Before Ross became liaison.
The signature belonged to someone Marcus had trusted even longer.
Governor Samuel Wade.
And suddenly Marcus understood why Ross had never seemed afraid of an audit.
The corruption did not end at the warehouse.
It went upward.
The governor denied everything.
Publicly, he described Nathan Ross as a “trusted official who had apparently betrayed the public.”
Marcus watched the statement from his office.
The words sounded familiar.
Chief Keller had said almost the same thing about Briggs.
One bad officer.
One bad official.
One convenient wall built around a larger problem.
Marcus requested the original Northstar contract.
The governor’s office delayed.
He requested emails.
They cited legal review.
He requested meeting records.
Some were missing.
Then Briggs asked to speak with him.
Marcus almost refused.
He went anyway.
Briggs sat behind glass in a county detention facility.
He looked smaller without the uniform.
No badge.
No gun.
No authority.
“You hate me,” Briggs said.
Marcus sat down.
“No.”
Briggs looked surprised.
“You should.”
“Hate takes time.”
Marcus picked up the phone.
“I have better uses for mine.”
Briggs looked away.
Then he told Marcus something investigators had not heard.
Ross kept a second ledger.
Not financial records.
Names.
Politicians.
Contractors.
Police commanders.
Judges.
People who had received favors.
People who had accepted money.
People Northstar had protected.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Marcus stared at him.
“Then why tell me?”
“Because Ross said one thing every time somebody got nervous.”
“What?”
Briggs lowered his voice.
“‘The old man keeps the insurance.’”
Marcus frowned.
“What old man?”
“I assumed Governor Wade.”
Marcus returned to his office and reviewed photographs recovered from Ross’s home.
One image caught his attention.
A charity dinner.
Ross.
Governor Wade.
Chief Keller.
Deputy Chief Foster.
And standing at the edge of the photograph was Leonard Price.
Marcus stared.
Why was Leonard there?
He called him.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Marcus drove personally to Leonard’s apartment.
The door was unlocked.
Inside, the place looked normal.
Then Marcus saw the dining table.
On it sat a folder.
His name was written across the front.
Marcus opened it.
Northstar invoices.
Bank transfers.
Photographs.
Copies of emails.
Everything.
Far more than Leonard should have possessed.
Marcus felt a chill.
Behind him, the door closed.
Leonard stood there.
The frightened seventy-six-year-old retired mechanic was gone.
His shoulders seemed straighter.
His eyes sharper.
Marcus looked at the documents.
“Who are you?”
Leonard sighed.
“I told you.”
“No.”
Marcus shook his head.
