Chapter 5 - The Recording Worth Killing For
“IF RICHARD VOSS THINKS HE CAN MAKE ME DISAPPEAR, HE DOESN'T KNOW ME VERY WELL.”
Emily spoke those words from her hospital bed the following morning.
Her voice was weak.
But there was a determination in it that I recognized.
It was the same determination that had made me fall in love with her thirteen years earlier.
We had met at a small community fundraiser outside Richmond.
I was home between deployments.
Emily was volunteering at a food distribution center.
She had spent most of the evening helping an elderly woman find transportation home.
When I asked why she was still working after everyone else had left, she shrugged.
“Because she still needs help.”
That was Emily.
She didn't think kindness made her extraordinary.
She thought it was simply what decent people owed one another.
And now that kindness had nearly cost her life.
Dr. Shah entered the room with a physical therapist named Lauren Mitchell.
They explained Emily's injuries again, more carefully this time.
Both legs had sustained serious fractures.
Her right tibia and fibula had required surgical stabilization.
Her left femur had also been fractured, and significant swelling made further treatment necessary.
Recovery would take months.
Possibly longer.
There could be complications.
There could be permanent limitations.
I held Emily's hand through the entire conversation.
When the doctors finished, she stared at the ceiling.
“Will I ever walk normally again?”
Dr. Shah sat beside her.
“We can't promise that today. But we're going to give you every opportunity to recover as much function as possible.”
Emily nodded.
Then asked something that caught me off guard.
“Will I be able to dance?”
The doctor hesitated.
“What kind of dancing?”
Emily smiled faintly.
“Bad dancing. My husband is terrible at it.”
I laughed through the tightness in my throat.
Dr. Shah smiled.
“Then I think we have something to work toward.”
After they left, Emily looked at me.
“You're doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Pretending you're not scared.”
I lowered my eyes.
She reached for my hand.
“Blake, I'm scared too.”
Those four words hurt more than anything Cameron had said.
Because Emily had always been the strong one when I came home carrying nightmares.
She never demanded explanations.
She simply stayed beside me until I was ready to talk.
Now it was my turn.
“I keep thinking about the phone call,” I admitted.
She watched me.
“I heard them hurt you. And there was nothing I could do.”
She squeezed my hand.
“You didn't leave me.”
“I wasn't there.”
“You came back.”
“That doesn't make up for what happened.”
“No,” she whispered. “It doesn't.”
Her honesty surprised me.
Then she continued.
“But I don't need you to undo what happened. I need you to stay with me while I figure out how to live afterward.”
I leaned forward and kissed her forehead.
“I can do that.”
She smiled.
“Good. Because you're stuck with me.”
An hour later, Naomi returned with Daniel and a federal victim-witness specialist.
Emily agreed to provide a statement, with breaks whenever she needed them.
I remained beside her.
Naomi began gently.
“Emily, tell us about the parking garage.”
Emily closed her eyes.
“It was a Thursday afternoon. I'd finished volunteering at Harbor House, and I stopped downtown to pick up supplies.”
Harbor House was a nonprofit emergency housing center.
Emily had volunteered there for years, helping families who had lost their homes after floods, fires, and unexpected financial disasters.
It was partly funded by a charitable foundation controlled by Richard Voss.
That connection suddenly seemed important.
Emily continued.
“I was walking toward my car when I heard a woman screaming.”
She described seeing Cameron Voss holding a young woman against a concrete wall.
The woman was Serena Ortiz.
Twenty-seven years old.
A contract compliance specialist who worked with county-funded housing programs.
Serena was holding a folder.
Cameron was trying to take it.
Emily heard him shouting.
“You don't understand what you're messing with!”
Then Cameron struck Serena.
Emily immediately called 911.
What she didn't realize was that her vehicle's parking camera had also recorded the confrontation.
When she later reviewed the footage, she discovered something else.
Richard Voss had been standing near a black SUV.
And beside him was Sheriff Nathan Cole.
Naomi leaned forward.
“Both of them?”
Emily nodded.
“They were talking before Cameron attacked Serena.”
“About what?”
“Payments. Housing contracts. Something about money being moved before an audit.”
Daniel opened his notebook.
“Did you hear specific names?”
Emily thought for a moment.
“One of them said Harbor House was already paid for twice.”
Naomi and Daniel exchanged a glance.
“Continue,” Naomi said.
“Then Richard told the sheriff that the auditors would never find the missing money.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
Emily looked toward me.
“That's when I realized the recording might be important.”
“What did you do with it?” Naomi asked.
“I copied the footage onto a memory card.”
“And the original?”
“The camera system stored it temporarily, but I removed the card before I went to the police.”
“Where is that card now?”
Emily hesitated.
“Serena has it.”
I looked at her.
“You found Serena afterward?”
She nodded.
“She contacted me through Harbor House. She said Cameron had threatened her sixteen-year-old brother, Nico.”
“Did she tell you why he attacked her?”
“She said she had discovered something about the county housing program. Millions of dollars were missing.”
Naomi's expression grew serious.
“Did she identify anyone responsible?”
Emily nodded.
“Richard Voss. Sheriff Cole. And several contractors.”
I felt a cold sensation move through my chest.
This wasn't simply about one wealthy man protecting his son.
It was about a network of people who had turned public money into private wealth.
Money intended for families who had nowhere else to go.
Emily continued.
“Serena told me the police wouldn't protect her. So I gave her the recording.”
“Why didn't you tell me?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“Because you were overseas. And I knew you'd want to come home.”
“I would have.”
“I know.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I thought I could handle it until you returned.”
I wanted to tell her she should have trusted me.
But I couldn't.
For twelve years, I had kept parts of my life hidden from her for the same reason.
We had both mistaken silence for protection.
Naomi gently interrupted.
“Emily, where did you last see Serena?”
“At Harbor House. Four days before the attack on our home.”
“Did she tell you where she was going?”
“No. She said she had found someone willing to help.”
“Who?”
Emily closed her eyes.
“A lawyer, I think. She wouldn't give me a name.”
Naomi wrote something down.
Then Daniel's phone vibrated.
He studied the screen.
His expression changed.
“Naomi, we have a problem.”
She stepped toward him.
“What happened?”
Daniel turned his phone so she could see.
“We ran Serena Ortiz through the county records.”
I sat straighter.
“Did you find her?”
He nodded grimly.
“Not exactly.”
He showed us a missing-person bulletin issued by the sheriff's department.
Serena's photograph filled the screen.
Beneath it was a warning that she was wanted for questioning in a major financial fraud investigation.
Emily stared in disbelief.
“That's a lie.”
Daniel scrolled farther.
“According to the sheriff's office, Serena stole more than two million dollars from Harbor House.”
Emily shook her head.
“No. She was trying to expose the people who stole it.”
Naomi's expression hardened.
“Then they've made the whistleblower look like the criminal.”
I looked at the bulletin.
There was another detail beneath Serena's photograph.
Her younger brother, Nico Ortiz, had been placed in temporary county custody.
Emily gripped my arm.
“Blake…”
I turned toward her.
“They have Nico.”
I looked at Naomi.
“If Cameron threatened that boy to control Serena, what happens now that she's missing?”
Naomi didn't answer immediately.
Then Daniel received another message.
He read it once.
Twice.
His jaw tightened.
“What?” I demanded.
He looked up.
“Nico Ortiz is scheduled to be transferred to an undisclosed facility tomorrow morning.”
I felt my chest constrict.
“Who authorized it?”
May you like
Daniel turned the screen toward me.
SHERIFF NATHAN COLE.
