olored business card across the mahogany desk-a token she had pulled from the official courier envelope delivered just an hour ago, following the Senate's intervention. The gold

. Jude Retreat." The director looked at the card, sweat beading on his forehead. The political pressure from Washington, channe

the winding Alpine roads, leaving the police sirens far behind. Inside her regained leather tote sat a sleek, encrypted

to dry out in absolute secrecy. Carma was escorted to a heavy stone suite. The moment the door clicked shut, she locked

emories. She initiated a deepfake audio rendering program, feeding it fresh streams of Johnie's current phone calls she had just intercepted using backdoors that wouldn't be patched for another three years. While the proce

life surged. Her grip tightened until the pen tip tore through the thick paper. Suddenly, heavy,

eather-bound Bible from the desk, and dropped into an armchair with her head bow

as her fingernails dug into the Bible's leather cover. It was Dion Olsen, the ruthless federal prosecutor f

to her white-knuckled grip on the holy book. "Mr. Olsen is with the DOJ," the manager stammered. "Invest

His voice was a low, magnetic rumble that sent a chill through Carma's chest. She forced her muscles to relax, letting

rk. The manager nervously backed out and closed the door. The air in the stone room crackled with unspoken te

cornering sick women?" Dion let out a low, rough laugh and reached into his coat pocket. He p

shing her ear with calculated precision. "If you decide you want to talk to one of them, you know how to find the Department of Justice." He straightened up and