What bothered her most about Matt’s call was how fucking genuine he sounded. It would have been so much easier if he’d played into that sleazy, slimy spy role that she’d assumed he’d taken. He’d slithered around the office, and around with her in her own bed. It would have made things all the easier to call him out and then break contact with him. Call a spade a spade. The guy was narc, and a master manipulator who’d gone well beyond the realm of professionalism. And decency.

He’d gone way too far, and he’d crossed too many lines with her.

And then this phone call . . . It was either him doubling down on his character, going deeper into the performance like a true sociopath, or he was telling the truth.

Laurel couldn’t decide which was worse.

Why couldn’t there be something, just once, that was cut and dried? Why couldn’t there ever be an easy decision? If she’d had one easy decision so far, it was sleeping with Matt in the first place. And look how that had turned out.

As she navigated through a stone maze of capitol buildings and courthouses, and finally entered the cool, grand hall of the Attorney General’s office, Laurel knew that it was time to truly move forward. Without Matthias. And for sure without Sentry Systems. It was time for her to finally obtain some protection.

“I’m here to see Mr. Smedley,” she said.

The woman behind the desk smiled at her, but it quickly evaporated. “Well, this is his office.”

“Yes, I know.”

Smedley’s receptionist dropped the stack of papers she was holding and rolled her chair toward a computer. “Do you have an appointment?” She placed her hands on her keyboard, waiting.

“I don’t know. Someone called for me.”

The receptionist drew her hands off the keyboard. “What does that mean?”

Laurel sighed. It was too early for this. “Can you just search my name or something?”

“I don’t think Mr. Smedley is holding office today, but I can look through his agenda.”

“Thanks,” Laurel watched the receptionist browse through her computer.

“Name?”

“Laurel Patterson.”

She thought back to the voicemail she’d left on her boss’s phone. She wasn’t feeling too well, but she could work from home. No biggie. Caitlyn could cover for her.

Caitlyn had been so nice.

Now, after a sleepless night, and after finally working up the courage, Laurel was standing in the office waiting room of Attorney General Walter Smedley. She assumed that he ranked high enough to actually deal with the information she’d had, and to take action. Perhaps formulate an investigation into AIDA’s dealings with laundering money from various green initiatives.

“I don’t see it,” the receptionist said.

“Can you check for Caitlyn Morse?”

“Who’s that?”

“She called for me,” Laurel said.

“She made the appointment?”

“Yes.”

A moment later, the woman’s demeanor had changed entirely. It was as if someone had flipped a switch, brightening up that smile and actually forcing eye contact. “One moment please,” she said before picking up the phone and murmuring something.

It looked like Caitlyn’s connections had paid off, a social key that helped unlock Mr. Smedley’s door to lowly little Laurel. Caitlyn hadn’t gone into the specifics at the time, and now Laurel felt even more curious about how some biker chick had such a privileged contact with someone as high up as the Attorney General of Georgia.

Laurel was shown into another, smaller room. A secondary waiting room, wood paneled and lined with nicer, more modernized chairs. Even the lighting felt different, its soft, welcoming glow contrasted dramatically to the previously harsh and almost medicinal quality of the more “public” room which anyone off the street could waltz into. Now, Laurel was one of them, an insider, and she came bearing gifts—insider information. Just how the Attorney General would react, she didn’t know. That was what scared her the most.

Caitlyn seemed to think that it was a safe, if unadvised, move—that Walter Smedley would not only protect Laurel, the brave whistle-blower, but also put the machinery in place for a legal take-down of epic proportions. She couldn’t fathom the alternative; rather, she wouldn’t let herself. The Attorney General smiling and nodding all the way with Laurel to the basement where she’d end up with a bullet in her head.

“Miss Patterson?”

A young man in a suit—looking almost like a teenager—stood in the doorway. High school was out for the summer and he was probably someone’s politically-aspirated kid. “Could you follow me, please?”

The kid walked her down two long corridors separated by a glass-doored sun room that connected two separate buildings. Plants were hung in this room. It smelled like wet soil and rotting wood, but was not altogether unpleasant.

He paused by an innocuous-looking door with no name. No distinction at all. It could have been a broom closet. Perhaps this was where they would snuff her out.

“He’s right through here,” the kid said, smiling, and then opening the door and showing her in.

Inside, more hanging plants. Big leafy ferns. Hanging baskets. Absorbing light from a large bay window which overlooked the Georgia State Capitol building. Walter Smedley had his desk there, his back to the window. The early morning light shone in hard and bright, making it hard to see his face. Even when he stood and approached her, his face seemed dark and mysterious. Laurel, in contrast, must have been well lit. She was well on her way to blindness from the glare.

“Laurel Patterson, I presume.” He shook her hand.

“Yes sir, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I always make time for friends, especially friends with . . . important information?”

“Well, we’ll see how important it is.”

“It’s enough to get you here.”

“Caitlyn already mentioned it to you?” She wasn’t supposed to. Laurel gave her strict warning about—

“Only that it’s some insider information about our state employees. That’s always important. So here you are.” He turned back and pulled a chair up to his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

She sat and looked over the room, a wall lined with framed black-and-white sports photos. Boxing. Track and field. Old stuff.

“Is this your office?”

“If you’re asking who that handsome young man is in all those photos . . . then, yes, it’s me.”

“I just didn’t see your name on the door, or even a number or anything. Just looked like any old door.”

“So?”

She let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t know.”

“I like to blend in.”

“The Attorney General can blend in?”

“Yes, I wasn’t sure about that at first, either.”

He was sitting on the other side of a large desk, arms stretched out onto it, hands folded. Laurel’s eyes had adjusted slightly to the glare, enough to see the almost bat-like appearance of his face. Bald with large pointy ears on each side. Aquiline nose. She couldn’t see any detail of his eyes, only that they were dark.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about blending in here,” she said. “I can barely see your face, from the light.”

He rose from his chair. “Yeah, I like morning meetings the best.” Walking over to the window, he pulled a cord, dropping the blinds and finally offering some protection from the glare. The room had darkened significantly, and she still couldn’t get a good look at him. “So, you’re with Caitlyn Morse at Sentry Systems. Forgive me for pressing the point, but, what exactly do you have to tell me today?”

“I think I’ve uncovered some evidence.”

“Evidence of a crime? What’s the crime?”

“I’m not sure, sir. Corruption?”

“That’s a very broad term. But, please tell me more. And do keep in mind that I am especially protective of whistleblowers. If your information is relevant and indeed accurate, and actionable, then I and the rest of Georgia justice will take every precaution in keeping you safe while we move forward with proceedings. But, please, go ahead.”

“Do you get many whistleblowers?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do many people come forward to you like this?”

“Not exactly like this, but, they don’t all know Caitlyn.”

“And how do you know her again?”

“She’s family.” He said it almost coldly. “So what do you have for me today, Laurel?”

“I have documents obtained from AIDA’s servers.”

He gave her a blank look.

“That’s Atlanta Investment and Development Agency, whom we’re working for.”

He nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“Documents shared between them, Fourth Ward Bank, and Big Green.”

“Big Green? Are you talking about the folks who run the wind farm up in Union County?”

“Yes, sir, wind turbines.”

“Please,” he said. “Enough with the sirs.”

“I’m not an economist. So you’ll have to get someone who knows finances.”

“What do you mean?”

“To look at it,” she said.

“Hmm, yes.”

“To analyze it properly.”

“Yes, of course.” He grabbed a stack of pages, opened a drawer, and tucked them inside. “Of course we’ll do that.”

“And there’s also something else.”

He looked up at her and smiled. “Of course there’s something else.”

“I need . . . um . . . I don’t know how else to say this. But, I’ll need protection.”

“Well, like I said, Laurel, you came to the right place. That’s what we do, protecting our witnesses. We wouldn’t have anything if not for the trust of our witnesses. Trust that we’ll safeguard their secrets, and their identity. To protect them right through the proceedings, and after, even, if it comes to that.”

“I understand you make efforts to protect your whistleblowers, as you’ve said . . . But it’s more complicated than that.”

“You keep saying that . . .”

“Someone . . . is . . .”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know why, but someone is, like, trying to frame me.”

He scrunched his eyebrows.

“At work.”

“At Sentry Systems?”

“It sounds crazy, but I’m being set up. I know it.”

His face relaxed, and then eased into a smile.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Nothing’s funny. Nothing at all.”

“You know all this, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m under an investigation. And your office probably has something to do with it.”

“Even if we were, I . . .” He sat back in his chair, his hands folded behind his head. “Look, I don’t know every single little thing we do here. I’m not the guy you should talk to for that. That’s daily operations stuff. I’m more . . .”

“You’re above all that.”

He smiled politely. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

“So you have no idea what I’m talking about?”

“Put it this way. I’ve never heard your name before. How’s that?”

Laurel bit her lip. She had to decide how honest he was being. And it was a tougher call than she’d liked.

“And again,” he said, his face stretching out into a yawn. “I’m only seeing you, as you know, as a favor to Caitlyn.”

“I understand that, sir. And thank you.”

“Okay Laurel . . . If you think we’re investigating you, then why come here?”

“To clear my name. She stared at him hard in the eyes. “I’m not gonna run from you guys.”

“Then you wouldn’t be opposed to an interview? We could do it today.” He sat up straight and grabbed a tablet off his desk. “I’ll bring in some of my agents that might be more familiar with your case. And then you can tell them all about your side of the story, and, you know, how you’re being framed and all that.”

He had his head down, flipping through his tablet. Laurel was just glad he couldn’t see her unguarded reaction to his suggestion. It frightened her, the interview sounding more like an interrogation. It sounded just a little menacing.

“What do you say, Laurel?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have time for it? It’ll just take . . . maybe an hour.”

How bad would it look if she backed out now? How guilty would she seem, squirming out of a direct challenge? If she was innocent, then she’d have nothing to hide. Right?

When Mr. Smedley looked up at her, his expression seemed to convey the same question. He had dropped a challenge, and now he was watching her very closely, studying every miniscule twitch of her face. She could feel his cold analysis, his professional training in body language decoding her and laying her bare right in his office.

“Laurel? Should I call them?” He waited a moment, staring at her with an almost bored expression. Nice and easy, relaxed, like it was no big deal. Just a little chat with an investigator or two. But he still looked so damned analytical. “Well, should we do this or not?”

“Fuck it, yeah.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes,” she said a little louder. “Let’s do this.”

Mr. Smedley laughed.

“I’d love to chat with your investigators,” Laurel said. “I just want to put an end to this.”

“I’m sure you do.” He rose from his chair, brushing the wrinkles out of his suit pants. “We’ll have to move this downstairs, if you don’t mind.”

Downstairs?

Part of her minded that an awful fucking lot.

The other part, her belief in her own innocence, and the infallibly of her evidence, helped a smile wash over her face when she followed him out of the room.

“I’m getting in touch with some folks who understand your case a lot better.”

“My case?” Laurel said. “I thought I didn’t have a case yet.”

“Gosh,” he said, laughing as he held a door open for her. “You’re a real paranoid one, aren’t ya?”

“It comes with my line of work.”

“Suppose I can understand that,” he said, nodding hello to a woman passing by in the hall. “Now, Laurel, we don’t have some secret file on you . . . yet.” He laughed again, seeming to take great joy in her discomfort. “I’m just teasin’.”

Laurel ignored him, checking her phone and half expecting—and half wanting—Matt’s name to appear as a missed call or text. She didn’t like having to end their previous call that way, basically just hanging up on the guy. But she had to do it. Didn’t she?

She was mildly excited to find that someone had indeed texted her, but her excitement leveled off when she saw that it had been her uncle. Probably some more warnings from him, more shaming her into returning back to work like the good servant she was supposed to be. A good girl who didn’t rock the boat, especially one built with good connections and family favors.

But when she started reading, it was like nothing she’d expected.

Are you okay? Guess you already heard about Pat. Sorry. Be safe. Call me.

What about Pat?!

She could only assume that it meant . . .

“Just straight through here,” Mr. Smedley said. “Your secrets will be safe in here.”

Had Pat been fucking murdered like Abe Hudson? And just like he’d predicted, last night?

He wasn’t suicidal.

Though he was a drunk, and frail, and clumsy.

But Laurel was neither of those things. So of course she would be safe.

Be safe.

She was in downtown Atlanta, in the office of the Attorney General, with the fucking Attorney General himself. How much safer could she possibly be?

“This is just where we take people like you,” he said as the elevator coasted down through the innards of the giant stone building.

“People like me?” Laurel pocketed her phone, neglecting to respond to the news about Pat.

“Yes. Whistleblowers.”

“Oh.”

“Especially when it’s concerning state employees. Things can get particularly . . . messy.”

Laurel wondered how messy it got with Pat. One shot to the head? A hit-and-run, perhaps. Or a slit throat and everything bleeding out of him . . .

“But you’ve got nothing to worry about, Laurel. You’re in good hands. We’ve been doing this for, oh, twenty years now?”

She nodded. Yes, yes, nothing to worry about. She tried smiling as she leaned back onto the elevator’s handrail, her hands gripping it tightly as their car suddenly shook like a passenger jet through turbulence.

“Sorry,” he said. “These elevators have definitely been at it for longer than twenty years.”

She smiled.

When they stepped out of the elevator car, the first thing to hit her was the smell. It was like car exhaust. Stale and chemical-like. It got stronger as he walked her through a dim, concrete-lined corridor. Were they headed to a parking garage?

“So, Laurel, you’re new with Sentry Systems? That your first job out of college?”

Her mind was racing. All this for a simple interview? She’d expected it to take place in an area of the building that was less stately than Mr. Smedley’s floor, but this? The increasingly bare and dingy décor made her feel faintly similar to a cow on its last walk to the killing floor.

“What did you take in college anyways? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The air was cool and dry. Dusty. The shivers started up, the cold, achy, twitchy feeling at the small of her back radiating up and round her chest. She was so cold.

“I’m guessing Computer Science? I have a niece who took that. Couldn’t land a job for the life of her. So I got her working here now. Someone’s secretary.”

Laurel smiled and nodded her way down the corridor, but finally had to ask, “Are we in shipping and receiving?”

“No,” he said, before going quiet.

The sound of their footsteps echoed hard off the bare, gray concrete. It seemed to grow louder, throbbing into her head. Her heartbeat, too.