The note was plain white paper, cheap ink, handwriting deliberate.
Adam read it three times, then looked at Rachel. She was young—mid-twenties, with dark circles under her eyes and a tremor in her hands.
“When did you find this?”
“This morning. Under my door. I didn't hear anyone. They must have come while I was asleep.”
“Have you told anyone else?”
“No. I came straight to you.”
Adam led her into the garage office. He sat her down, poured her a cup of coffee.
“Tell me everything. What do they know? What are they threatening to expose?”
Rachel wrapped her hands around the cup. “Before the raid, I wasn't just a victim. I worked for Cindy. Not willingly. But I did things. Small things. Running messages. Cleaning. I thought if I cooperated, she'd let me go.”
“Did she?”
“No. She kept
