Jane's POV
I could still feel the sting of that adrenaline from the secret gathering in my veins as I moved away from the derelict farmhouse. The proof I had just acquired—documentation, tape, and the cruel knowledge of a conspiracy that cut all the way to the blackest reaches of my family's darkest crimes—was both victory and danger of death. There was no possible thing in the entire world that could have prepared me for what was coming.
It was a rainy, black evening several nights later. I had promised to meet the whistleblower again at an obscure warehouse complex, a site chosen because it was obscure and relatively faceless. I had a thudding in my chest as I approached a black loading platform, the bright beam of a gaudy street lamp illuminating the rain-slicked sidewalk. I stood by
