Page 37 of For Silence

Sanders didn't waste time on pleasantries, cutting straight to the chase as she brandished the file. "The letter sent to Derik—it's written on a type of stationery no longer in production."

Morgan arched an eyebrow, interest piqued. "Go on."

"Only one buyer stocked up before it was discontinued," Sanders continued, her finger tapping against a printed receipt within the file. "Dependence News, a small-time paper downtown. They bought enough to last a decade."

"Dependence News..." Morgan repeated, rolling the name around in her mind like a puzzle piece waiting to fit. It was a lead, a tangible thread in a case woven from shadows and whispers.

Morgan's eyes darted across the sea of faces on the screen as Agent Sanders handed over a freshly printed list. Fifteen names, fifteen possible keys to unlocking this twisted puzzle. "You've done good, Sanders," Morgan said with a curt nod, acknowledging the younger agent's diligence. "Do you have a list of the employees?"

"Thank you, Agent Cross," Sanders replied, her posture straightening under the praise. “And yes, I have the list.”

As Morgan scanned the list, one name snagged her attention like a fishhook—Henry Caldwell. Her gut tightened; instincts honed from years of chasing shadows whispered that this was more than coincidence. She tapped his name into the database, pulling up everything they had on him.

"Thirty-eight," Morgan murmured, reading the profile. "No priors." The screen displayed a man with an average build and forgettable features, someone who could vanish into a crowd without a second glance. But it wasn’t his clean record that intrigued her—it was the byline connected to articles about Gina Bellwood and Elaine Harrows. Two victims from their case, two lives snuffed out by a vendetta steeped in irony.

"Derik," she called over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off the screen. "Caldwell wrote about both Bellwood and Harrows."

"Connection or coincidence?" Derik asked, approaching with the lean grace of a predator, every step calculated.

"Let’s find out." Morgan clicked through Caldwell's public records, searching for anything out of place.

"Looks like your ordinary guy," Derik observed, peering over her shoulder. His presence was both comforting and disarming—a juxtaposition that often left Morgan grappling with her feelings towards him.

"Ordinary is exactly what he wants us to think," Morgan countered. She shut her laptop with a decisive snap. "But we're going to peel back those layers."

"Expose the truth," Derik finished her thought, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Exactly," Morgan affirmed, her voice steely with resolve. They stood side by side, united in purpose, ready to dive headfirst into the murky waters of human deceit.

Morgan’s fingers danced over the keyboard, the clicks punctuated by a ticking clock in the silent room. She navigated through Henry Caldwell's social media with the precision of a seasoned agent, her eyes scanning for any telltale signs that might connect him to their case. Posts railing against injustice and corruption filled his timeline, each one a testament to his obsession with exposing the flawed system.

"Look at this," Morgan murmured to Derik, pointing to a particularly fervent post where Caldwell decried a recent court decision. "He's got motive written all over him."

Derik leaned in, his curiosity piqued as he read over her shoulder. "That's almost verbatim to the phrasing in the letter."

"Exactly." Morgan's gut churned. The writing style, the thematic consistency—it was too close to be coincidence. Her fingers hovered over the mouse, hesitating just a moment before she clicked on the profile picture—a smiling man, unassuming. But Morgan knew better than to trust appearances.

"Children?" Derik asked, his voice low.

"None." Morgan's brows furrowed. "Which means our theory..."

"Could be off." Derik finished the thought, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"Or maybe it's a metaphorical child," Morgan pondered aloud, the wheels in her mind turning. "Something or someone he's lost that he equates to a child."

"Wouldn't be the first time we've seen something like that." Derik's voice held a note of weary experience.

"True." Morgan took a deep breath, steeling herself. The profile on her screen was no longer just a collection of digital information—it represented a potential key to unlocking the violence that had taken three lives.

"Let's go confront him," Morgan decided, her tone brooking no argument. "Time to see if Henry Caldwell is just a loudmouth with a keyboard or if there's blood on his hands."

"Lead the way," Derik said, standing up.

***

The glass doors of Dependence News whispered shut behind Morgan and Derik, sealing them inside the news hub's hive of activity. It was that liminal hour when daylight began to concede to night, and with it, the frenetic pace of the office tempered as employees prepared to escape into the evening.

"Can I help you?" A young man in a crisply tailored suit intercepted their path, his brown eyes flickering curiously over the badges they had pre-emptively displayed.

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