Rain beads on the brick alley beside the county annex, and the safe house fades behind Sally as the group reaches the industrial lot. Flickering streetlights pick out stacks of damp records and a sedan backed near a side door. A rumpled man in a suit, Milton Voss, shoves boxes into the trunk like he is running out of time.
Mara Keene
That’s Voss. If he gets in the car, the trail goes cold.
Devlan Mitchel
Or he leads us straight into a trap. We do this careful.
Elias
Sally stays with me. No heroics if we can help it.
Mara shifts her stance toward the side entrance, already ready to close the distance. Voss glances up, sees the figures in the lot, and freezes with one box half-lifted from the pavement. His face drains of color.
Milton Voss
No, no, I’m done. I gave the file up. I don’t know anything else, I swear.
The words land hard. If Voss is telling the truth, he knows about Sally’s file, and maybe who buried her trail. If he is lying, he is the last witness standing between her and the federal cover-up.
Get Milton Voss to talk