Inside the stifling air of the Minister's office, Wayne Yorke felt as though the oxygen had been replaced by cold, pressurized lead. He watched Cedric Donovan—the man who had been his patron for five years—offer a polite, distant bow to Ambrose Ward, effectively severing their ties. Yorke was being offered up as a sacrificial lamb to the Joint Investigation Task Force, and the realization was a physical blow to his gut.
As he was led toward the door, Yorke’s mind was a frantic, spinning kaleidoscope of memories. He kept stealing glances at the tall, broad-shouldered young man leading the detail. Ambrose Ward. The name was a thunderclap in his mind.
Back in Fairhaven, when Ambrose had been serving as the personal secretary to Yorke's wife, Lynn Graves, Yorke had barely spared the boy a gl
