“Conference room in thirty minutes. FBI briefing on the search results from last night. They found something big.”
“On my way.” Brooks ended the call and stood. “I have to get back to the station. The protection detail should be here by noon. Officers Daniels and Morales—both good people. They’ll keep you safe.”
“Brooks.” Vivienne’s voice stopped him at the door. “Thank you. For everything. For believing me. For protecting me.”
Brooks felt the pull toward her, recognized that what had started as a reluctant working relationship had become something more significant.
“We make a good team,” he said. “Now let me go find out what the FBI discovered.”
The conference room at the station had been transformed into an FBI command center. Agent Porter stood at the front, flanked by evidence boards covered with photographs and documents. Brooks took a seat next to Sullivan as the room filled with local officers and federal agents.
“Good morning.” Porter’s voice cut through the chatter. “Last night’s searches were extremely productive. I want to walk you through what we found.”
She clicked a remote, and crime scene photos appeared on the screen. “Location one: the old quarry on Aldrich property. Ground-penetrating radar identified three burial sites. We’ve recovered remains from all three. Based on preliminary examination, we’re looking at victims from the 1990s and early 2000s.”
Brooks felt his stomach tighten. More families who would finally get answers.
“Location two: the abandoned warehouse on the harbor.” More photos. “A hidden room containing financial records going back forty years. Ledgers documenting artifact sales, buyer information, transaction details. Everything we need to trace the money and identify international buyers.”
“Location three: the fishing dock storage unit.” Porter’s expression grew more intense. “This is the significant find. Inside a waterproof container, we discovered correspondence between Winston Aldrich and buyers in twelve countries. But more importantly, we found shipping manifests that document the movement of artifacts with their original provenance—where they were stolen from, when, and how they entered the Aldrich network.”
Sullivan leaned forward. “How does that help us?”
“Because several of these artifacts are on international watch lists. Museums and governments have been searching for them for decades. Some are culturally significant pieces worth millions.” Porter pulled up images of ancient pottery, jewelry, and statues. “With this documentation, we can not only prosecute the Aldriches for smuggling, but we can also repatriate stolen cultural heritage to the countries they were taken from.”
Brooks saw the scope expanding. This wasn’t just a local crime anymore. This was international trafficking that would involve multiple governments and agencies.
“The other significant development,” Porter continued, “is that Daniel Clarkson’s testimony is now corroborated by physical evidence. We found emails on a server in the warehouse that match his description of being recruited to spy on his wife. We have the payment trail. We have the communication records. His cooperation has moved from helpful to essential.”
“What about Winston?” an FBI agent asked.
“Still at large. But we’ve frozen all Aldrich family accounts. He has no access to his resources. No way to pay for safe harbor or false documents. Every law enforcement agency in the region has his photo. It’s only a matter of time.”
Porter clicked to the next slide. “Which brings me to our next steps. We need to interview everyone who had contact with the Aldrich family’s business operations. Employees at the shipping company, the construction firm, the real estate holdings. Some of them knew about the smuggling. Others were genuinely ignorant. We need to separate them out.”
“How many people are we talking about?” Sullivan asked.
“Approximately two hundred employees across all Aldrich businesses. Plus town officials who may have been compromised—council members, inspectors, anyone in a position to facilitate their operations.”
The room absorbed that number. Brooks thought about what it meant for Westerly Cove—a small town where everyone knew everyone, now facing the reality that dozens of their neighbors might have been complicit in criminal activity.
“Detective Harrington.” Porter’s attention turned to him. “I understand Ms. Hawthorne is currently in protective custody.”
“Yes. We’re transitioning her to a police detail today so she can return to her business.”
“Good. We’ll need her available for additional consultations as we process evidence. Her insights have been invaluable.” Porter paused. “I also want to discuss the possibility of herconsulting on other cold cases with similar elements. The Bureau has several unsolved disappearances near historical sites that might benefit from her abilities.”
Brooks felt protective instincts flare. “She’s needed here in Westerly Cove.”
“I’m not suggesting we relocate her. Just occasional consultation when local agencies request it.” Porter’s tone made it clear this wasn’t really a request. “Her success rate is remarkable. It would be a waste not to utilize that resource.”
Sullivan spoke up before Brooks could respond. “Ms. Hawthorne’s availability for outside consultation can be discussed once this case is fully resolved. Right now, she’s a witness in an active investigation with a fugitive still at large. Her safety takes priority.”
Porter nodded. “Understood. Then let’s talk about the search schedule for today.”
The briefing continued for another hour, detailing search warrants, interview assignments, and evidence processing. Brooks made notes, coordinated with other officers, and tried to ignore the growing sense that this case was spiraling into something far larger than he’d anticipated.
When the meeting finally broke up, Sullivan pulled him aside.
