Chapter 13 - THE WOMAN WHO HELD THE KEYThe name was Caroline Hargrove.
For years, she had worked as an attorney specializing in medical negligence cases.
She had represented families who lost loved ones after receiving experimental treatments.
She had also been married to Captain Daniel Hargrove.
And according to Jeanne, she had been the person Gabriel trusted with the money Elena Sokolov recovered from Meridian.
Rebecca immediately requested Caroline's financial records.
Viktor sat beside Gabriel's hospital bed, listening as the investigation expanded around him.
The detective remained unconscious.
Jeanne held his hand.
For the first time since the escape, Viktor allowed himself to feel exhaustion.
He had been running for nearly two days.
His body ached.
His brother was missing.
And the truth kept changing shape every time he thought he understood it.
Rebecca returned an hour later.
Her expression was grim.
“We found Caroline.”
Viktor looked up.
“Where?”
“At her office.”
“Is she cooperating?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“She was murdered yesterday.”
Jeanne covered her mouth.
Viktor closed his eyes.
Another life.
Another person silenced.
Rebecca continued.
“But she left something behind.”
She placed a photograph on the table.
It showed a small storage facility.
A handwritten number was visible on the back.
Viktor frowned.
“What is that?”
“Caroline rented a unit under a false name.”
Rebecca looked toward Gabriel.
“We believe she was storing evidence.”
Viktor stood.
“Then let's go.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“You're not going anywhere without authorization.”
Viktor looked at his handcuffs.
“I'm not asking to escape.”
“I know.”
“Then let me help.”
Rebecca studied him.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she nodded.
“We'll see what the evidence team finds.”
At the storage facility, agents discovered dozens of boxes.
Inside were medical files, financial statements, and recordings of conversations between Meridian executives and public officials.
The evidence was overwhelming.
But one box contained something different.
Letters.
Hundreds of them.
Written by families whose loved ones had died.
Some thanked Caroline for helping them obtain treatment.
Others described grief, financial hardship, and unanswered questions.
One letter was written by a young girl whose father had died during an experimental drug trial.
Thank you for helping my mom keep our house. I wish my dad could come home, but at least we don't have to move.
Viktor read the letter twice.
Then he lowered it.
His mother had risked her life for people like this.
Not for money.
Not for revenge.
But because she believed their suffering mattered.
Rebecca stood beside him.
“Your mother helped create a restitution fund.”
Viktor looked up.
“What?”
“She and Caroline redirected money stolen through Meridian's fraudulent accounts into a legal trust intended for victims.”
Viktor frowned.
“Was that legal?”
“Some transfers may not have been. We're still investigating.”
Rebecca's expression softened.
“But their goal was to preserve evidence and compensate families who had been ignored.”
Viktor looked toward the boxes.
For years, he had believed his mother died because the world was cruel.
Now he understood she had died because she refused to accept that cruelty as inevitable.
A phone rang.
Rebecca answered.
Her expression changed immediately.
“What?”
She listened.
Then turned toward Viktor.
“We have a problem.”
His heart tightened.
“Milan?”
Rebecca nodded.
“Bennett sent a video.”
She opened the file.
Milan appeared on the screen.
He was tied to a chair in a dimly lit room.
His face was bruised.
But he was alive.
Viktor felt his knees weaken.
“Milan.”
On the recording, Bennett stepped into view.
He smiled.
“Hello, Viktor.”
Viktor clenched his fists.
Bennett continued.
“I hear you've been busy digging up old secrets.”
He placed a hand on Milan's shoulder.
“Unfortunately, your brother doesn't have much time.”
Viktor stepped closer to the screen.
Bennett leaned toward the camera.
“Bring me the original archive and the witness list. No police. No tricks.”
He paused.
Then smiled.
“Or I'll finish what I started seven years ago.”
The screen went black.
Viktor stared at his brother's frozen image.
Rebecca looked at him.
“We'll find him.”
But Viktor barely heard her.
Because just before the video ended, Milan had moved his fingers.
Three taps.
A pause.
Two taps.
A pause.
Three taps.
A childhood signal.
Something the brothers had invented when they were little.
Viktor suddenly understood.
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Milan wasn't simply begging for help.
He was telling Viktor exactly where Bennett was holding him.
