DOMINIC
We had forty-eight hours before Morrison's next move. We needed a miracle.
The conference table in Marcus's penthouse looked like a war room. Papers everywhere. Coffee cups multiplying. Jeremy hunched over his laptop, eyes bloodshot. Rachel Vargas from the DOJ sat across from him, flipping through depositions.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept.
"The workers' rights case is solid," Rachel said. "We've got testimony from forty-three former employees. Pattern of abuse going back years."
"But it doesn't tie Morrison to Marcus's death," Maya said from the window.
"No," Rachel admitted. "The autopsy shows signs of suffocation, but without the original medical examiner's notes..."
"Which Morrison destroyed," Jeremy cut in.
I pressed my palms against the table. "What abou
