Janet blew out a breath, and Valeria looked surprised to see Grant limping. He had tried to hide it, but he was losing blood, and the pain was growing. “What happened?” Valeria asked, running toward him. “Are you hurt?”

“Nothing major,” Grant smiled even though his lips were thinned with pain.

“Nothing major? You’re leaving a fucking blood trail!” Valeria was immediately under his arm giving him something to lean on. “Where were you shot?”

“Biceps and hip,” Grant grunted as they made their way inside. “I can see you’re hurt, too.”

Valeria looked down at her shoulder. Blood had soaked her shirt. When she looked up and smiled at him, Grant forgot all about the pain. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun.”

Janet led them into the house where Roland was cuffed and sitting on the couch, waiting for them. All he was missing was a big red bow.

Dalton’s eyes quickly assessed the damage. Grant could tell he was worried, but he wasn’t about to stop now. Not when the mission was so close to the end. Lizzy nodded to Janet who moved to have a clear view of Roland’s crumpled and dusty suit-clad body. It looked as if he’d put up a fight after Dalton dragged him out from under the bed as one eye was beginning to swell.

Janet read him his rights as she leaned against the wall, keeping her body cam pointed right at Roland.

Lizzy sat on the coffee table in front of Roland and leaned forward, putting her elbows on her knees. “Roland, you’ve fucked up.”

“You can’t come into Mexico and assault me like this,” Roland said, trying to put on his elitist airs.

“I can when I have a joint warrant from the US and Mexico. Also, you attacked a federal agent.” Ah, so it was Lizzy who gave him the shiner. Grant looked at her knuckles and saw her right hand was slightly red.

Roland froze and shook his head. “My lawyers will eat you for breakfast.”

“I don’t think so. Now, you sit here and listen to me. Then you can talk or not talk. Okay?” Lizzy asked. Roland looked skeptical, but nodded. “Manuel is outside. Sebastian Abel is in DC. What do you think they’re saying right now about you and your role in Mollia Domini? An organization that has attempted to assassinate the president and failed to blow up the world’s exchanges.”

“You’ve been talking to Manuel and Sebastian?” Roland asked, suddenly looking nervous.

“Sure have,” Valeria said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Roland’s eyes darted around the room. Lizzy snapped her fingers, drawing his attention back to her. “Right now is when you decide whether to live or die. You know the penalty for treason can be death, right? If you tell us everything from how you were recruited, to what you’ve done on behalf of the organization, to a list of active participants in Mollia Domini right now, then I’ll get the attorney general on the phone and ask him to spare your life.”

Roland was quiet for a second. “Maybe I should—”

“Maybe you should answer the question.” Dalton crossed his arms over his chest. “Live or die?”

“If I talk, he’ll kill me,” Roland said quietly as all the ego and bluster was torn from him. His body deflated. His head hung, his shoulder caved inward.

“We can protect you,” Lizzy promised. “But first you have to prove you deserve it.”

Roland nodded his head slowly and sat silently for a moment. Then he began to tell everything. “It started three years ago during President Mitchell’s campaign. I was contacted by Mrs. Mitchell. They needed money to win. She promised me a seat at the table if they won. I’d have the president’s ear. When I shuffled around some money to make it look like legitimate campaign donations, I was invited to sit at the president’s table at fundraisers and campaign rallies. He endorsed me and my bank as examples of the future.” Roland ran his shaky cuffed hands over his face and dropped them into his lap.

“Then his chief of staff approached me about a loan for the campaign. It would have to be hidden because it was illegal. I made it happen, and a week later I got an invitation to the Tech Summit Ball. I wasn’t going to go. What did I care about tech? But I was strongly encouraged to go.”

Roland took a deep breath. “It was there I learned about Mollia Domini. I was sitting at a table with Sebastian Abel, Bertie Geofferies, his prick of a son, Rue, Sandra Cummings, and George and Helena Stanworth. Their talk turned to how the country was really run from behind the scenes. They talked about President Mitchell’s hands were tied by public opinion, laws, and regulations. George mentioned that public opinion could be changed. The public did what he told them. He told them what movie was the must-see movie. He told them what book was the next bestseller. He told them what to spend their money on. And most importantly, he told them what to be upset about.”

Roland looked up at them. “Don’t you see? Stanworth ran the media, and through the media he ran the world.”

Lizzy nodded. They’d seen that firsthand with numerous celebrities and news anchors pushing their own agenda of lies. “So, what happened then?”

“Sebastian asked if anything could be done to help free up Mitchell. He had numerous policy ideas that would be beneficial to both Sebastian and Bertie and would get major pushback if the public knew.”

“Then what?” Lizzy asked. She may have looked relaxed, but Grant could see the tension in her body.

“Bertie suggested Sebastian help him from the background. Use his influence over Stratton to get things done. Apparently Sebastian had already taken his concerns to Stratton, who shot him down, claiming what he wanted to do was illegal. ‘AI should never be used to manipulate the market. Supporting bad people just because they’d let Americans come in and use up all the resources as payment wasn’t right.’ Stuff like that. Sebastian was going to give up.”

“But . . .” Lizzy prompted.

“But Bertie said, why did they need Stratton when they had all the power they needed at the table? They could form their own group to run things behind the scenes. To be the ones to pull the strings.”

“And Sebastian?” Lizzy asked, leaning back giving Roland room.

“He was called away from the table, and Mrs. Mitchell took his seat. While he was gone, Bertie talked about it more. Sandra would be the secretary of state if Mitchell won. She was already a powerful congresswoman. She said she knew of some people who wouldn’t mind crossing the line. That crazy colonel of hers, for starters. I didn’t know she meant murder. I thought she’d just take a tougher stance on handing out foreign aid or sanctions. But then she started having the opposition killed. I swear, I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

“Go back to the dinner. Sandra said she was in. Then what?” Lizzy asked, trying to refocus him.

“Then the Stanworths jumped in. They said if there was something in it for them, they could swing the media for Mitchell. Mrs. Mitchell promised them everything they wanted. Tax breaks for Hollywood studios, unlimited access to her husband, exclusive interviews, promotion of his movies . . . you name it, she said they would have it. Bertie thanked her, and Mrs. Mitchell smiled and left the table. He turned to us and grinned. That’s what fifty million will buy you—the presidency.”

“Bertie funded the Mitchell campaign?” Lizzy asked.

Roland nodded. “I handled the money myself. But then Bertie asked me if I knew someone who was good at cleaning money before we began to move it around. I told him about Manuel. I, um, helped clean his drug money for years. A deal was made for me reach out to Manuel and see if he had interest in partially funding and laundering the money to finance our group. He did, and as a result, Mitchell withdrew border patrol agents and ordered investigations against Manuel closed once he was in office. Bertie would make a business payment for one of his companies to Manuel, who would clean it, and I would help launder it to get it into the hands of whoever needed it.”

“Like the five million Sandra intended to give to the rebel leader in Syria,” Lizzy stated rather than asked.

Roland nodded. “I know there were other people involved, but Bertie handled it all. We each had one or two people under us we gave orders to, and then we ran everything through Bertie. It was to protect our identities.”

“What about Sebastian?” Lizzy asked it casually, but Grant knew this wasn’t a casual question.

“He came back to the table, and Bertie stopped us from talking. I could tell Sebastian knew he was being excluded from something. He asked me about it later, but I’d been ordered not to say anything about the group. I was told to see if Sebastian could be brought up to snuff after Stratton became president. I inquired about donations to help with the African leader we wanted to get out of office. He was later assassinated, but I told Sebastian we needed money to arm the rebels. He wouldn’t do it, so Bertie froze him out again. But Sebastian never really goes away. He knew something was going on, and when Manuel’s accounts were frozen and Bertie didn’t want to put in personal money, he said to bring in Sebastian and let him put his neck on the line. Bertie believed Stratton wouldn’t jail his best friend. Suddenly, Sebastian was useful, but he was brought in wearing blinders. There was this party the other night and Sebastian was there. I took him down here. He talked with me and Manuel. And he donated some money to our cause.”

Grant looked to Dalton and Val, who were very tight-lipped. They weren’t reacting at all. “And what did he think about working with Bertie?”

Roland shrugged. “He didn’t know who he was working for. I told him he had to prove himself first. I told him it was a secret club of the most powerful people in the world. I’m sure he put two and two together, though.”

“Who else is in the group? Besides Prince Noah, since he was conveniently killed off.” Lizzy kept her eyes on Roland giving him just enough to not suspect she didn’t already know the answer.

“There’s a long list, but I don’t have it. Bertie does. He’s paranoid about being hacked so everything is written down.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know where he keeps it. But it’s a notebook disguised inside an old book—brown leather, gold lettering. I can’t remember which book.” Roland started to sound tired and argumentative. “Will you call the AG now?”

“We’ll have more questions for you, Roland. But you did well. You’ll live.”

“Manuel will kill me. And if he doesn’t, Bertie will. I’m a dead man.”

“We won’t let them touch you,” Dalton swore. “Come with me. We’ll leave through the tunnels and Manuel won’t know you’re still alive.”

“You promise?”

Dalton nodded. “These two will go with us to make sure you aren’t seen while these two ladies,” he said nodding to Janet and Lizzy, “will stay here to make sure Manuel is taken someplace else.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, hanging his head as he stood up. “I really didn’t want anyone killed. It just spiraled out of control, and then Bertie shot Helena and George right in front of me. I knew he’d kill me if I ever talked.”

“I promise you, we’ll get Bertie. But what about Rue?” Lizzy asked as Roland started walking away.

Ronald turned slowly around. “He’s the worst of them all. He has no real power, so he constantly tries to prove he does. He went crazy when his dad announced Vivian was pregnant. I’m pretty sure Rue tied up the Stanworth loose end.”

“Christine?” Lizzy asked.

Roland nodded. “She knew about these dead hit men Bertie had had Sandra and George send on errands. By the time I got back to LA, Christine was dead. When I saw Rue, he was bragging about the power one has when they take a life. I put two and two together this time and have been staying the fuck away from him.”

Grant closed in behind Roland with his arm around Valeria as Dalton walked Roland down the stairs and into the tunnels. They had their answer. Bertie Geofferies was behind it all.

---

Lizzy and Janet silently turned off their body cams. She was shaking after that interrogation. She had hoped she could scare Roland into a confession, but she’d never dreamed he would know so much. And Sebastian . . . he wanted to participate, but didn’t. Then he did jump in but told her about it. She didn’t understand him at all. What stood out though was that Sebastian knew about Mollia Domini before anyone else and told no one. He even figured out who was in charge. Instead of telling her or even Birch, he chose to remain silent. Why?

“I’ll call Knoll and Kirby and let them know what happened. Good work, James.”

Lizzy smiled in return and called Humphrey. It was too risky to call Birch.

“Lizzy?”

The slightly high and nasally voice made her smile. It had been hard seeing Val and Grant bleeding. Way harder than it should have been. It brought her own mortality into question, and when you were in her line of work you couldn’t think about that. “Bertie Geofferies is the head of the organization. His son, Rue, is also involved, as well as Mrs. Mitchell. It appears she was active in its organization. Since her husband died, she has no real role besides trying to shape Birch’s staff to keep those she and Bertie had recruited in power.”

“Evidence?”

“Taped confession of Roland Westwood.”

“A former first lady whose husband died in office . . . it better be ironclad or we’ll be the worst kind of villains.”

“It is.”

“What about Sebastian?” Humphrey asked.

“I’m still trying to work that out. He definitely knew about the group and knew Bertie was in charge of it. Yet he helped us . . . kind of. However, he was also poised to take over the group if we had failed to bring down the entire inner circle. I don’t know yet what to make of him. We’re on our way back home with Roland. We’re driving to San Diego to meet up with Kirby and Knoll. We’ll be there in two or so hours. Then we’ll catch a flight back to DC. We’ll be there tonight.”

“Good job, Lizzy. Your father would be proud.”

Humphrey hung up and Lizzy took a deep breath. It was time to end this. Her father deserved as much.