Brad looked up. “Then what’s the endgame?”
Alex stepped forward. “Gideon Ward.”
Brad’s eyes snapped to him. “What?”
“It has to be about Ward,” Alex said. “The picture was from her interrogation room. Charlotte was the one who handled that case.”
Charlotte nodded, her arms tightening across her chest. “It’s from the night I arrested him. That’s not something just anyone could’ve gotten their hands on.”
Brad blinked once, then exhaled slowly, flipping to a blank page. “Ward’s still inside.”
“But is he pulling strings?” Alex’s tone was even, but his jaw was tight.
Brad hesitated. “No. Not that we’ve seen. Up until a year ago, he hadn’t had visitors in years. He communicated only through his lawyer.”
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You sound pretty sure.”
Brad nodded. “We had reason to check. Last year, the Waverly County DA requested a background review after his new public defender filed for compassionate release. The report said he’s dying. Liver failure. He’s still in that prison bed.”
Charlotte absorbed the information in silence, and Alex could see the calculation in her eyes. “If it’s not him,” she said, “someone else knows the case well enough to weaponize it.”
Brad rubbed a hand over his mouth, processing. “So, someone wants to stir up Ward’s past now, thirty years later. Why?”
Before anyone could answer, a forensic tech stepped into the room, holding up an evidence bag. “Found this under the mattress in the main bedroom.”
Brad took the bag and held it up. Alex squinted. Inside was a motel registration card, faded and yellowed with age.
Charlotte stepped forward slowly. She took the bag, her fingers brushing the plastic. “The Holloway Motel,” she said quietly. “That’s where we found him. Ward. He was living under the name Victor Graves. That’s where he kept his things.”
Brad didn’t speak at first. He didn’t need to. Everyone in the room could feel the shift.
Alex watched her carefully. She looked steady on the outside, but he knew her. He could see the tremor just beneath the surface.
Then Brad said quietly, “You have to tell Izzy. She wrote a dissertation on Gideon Ward.”
Charlotte’s head snapped up. “No.”
“You need to tell her. And the others,” Brad said, closing the distance. “If this is connected to Ward, if someone’s using this case to send a message, your daughters need to know.”
“They don’t need to be dragged into this,” she said, her voice rising slightly.
Alex stepped closer, not to crowd her but to stand with her. “Charlotte,” he said softly. “Brad’s right. If someone’s targeting you, it might not stop with you.”
Brad nodded. “And I want you to go to the doctor. Bloodwork. Make sure you weren’t drugged.”
She hesitated, and Alex saw it, that flicker of fear, quickly masked by her resolve. But she didn’t argue. The registration card in her hand opened the door that much further. The past wasn’t behind them anymore. It was already inside. Alex forced himself to breathe through the tension.
Brad didn’t flinch, didn’t argue. He just watched her. Waiting.
Alex knew that tactic well. Brad wasn’t the type to yell, wasn’t the type to push. He was the kind of man who let silence do the work for him. Charlotte hated silence.
"You have five daughters," Alex said, voice controlled but firm. "And if this is about you, then it’s about them too."
Charlotte clenched her jaw. "There’s no reason to think they’re in danger."
Brad sighed, waving the evidence bag with the registration card. "You don’t get to decide that. Not with this. Not with a man like him or his copycat."
Alex’s coffee rose in his throat. Him. Brad never uttered the names Victor Graves or Gideon Ward.
