Page 76 of Beautiful Agony

"You're right about Svoboda being aware," I say, cutting through Aleksey's attempts to intervene. "But not in the way you think. Svoboda is the only organization actively fighting against the trafficking."

"Now wait a—" Aleksey starts, but I hold up my hand.

"No, he needs to know." I lean forward as Rutledge picks up his pen again. "Svoboda uses its position as a luxury brand to infiltrate fashion shows where these operations take place. Half of our resources go into maintaining that cover, while the other half goes to extracting victims and getting them to safety."

Rutledge's pen scratches across his notepad. "Go on."

"Vadim Stravinsky has dedicated half his life to dismantling these networks. He's saved thousands of women."

"And the ring?" Rutledge's sharp eyes fix on my left hand. "Care to explain that, Ms. McKinney?"

"Vadim needed access to Alexander Nevsky Cathedral in Paris," I explain, remembering the weight of the wedding dress, the bible hidden in its folds. "Kirsan keeps his records in a bible there—all the transactions and all the buyers. Vadim needed someone to pose as his wife in order to steal the bible. He chose me. He married me."

"Married?" Rutledge asks, his pen pausing mid-stroke. "Why you specifically?"

"Because I accidentally took his dry cleaning with this list in it," I explain, gesturing to the paper on Rutledge's desk. "When we met again at the Vorobyov memorial retrospective, he approached me about it."

"The Vorobyov memorial retrospective?" Rutledge's pen pauses.

"Yes. I was working there as catering staff. You can verify that with my former employer." My fingers brush against Mom’s necklace again, drawing comfort from its familiar weight. "That's where Vadim first explained what the list meant."

Rutledge makes another note before looking up at me. "And this operation in Paris. Were you successful?"

"We were." I swallow hard, memories of Irina's blood flashing through my mind. "But Kirsan has already shifted his focus to Los Angeles. He's planning to use L.A. Fashion Week as cover for expanding his operation."

"Ms. McKinney," Rutledge sets down his pen with a sigh. "Or rather, Mrs. Stravinsky. You understand that the Seattle Police Department has no jurisdiction in Los Angeles."

"I know that Seattle police can't operate in Los Angeles," I say, fingers tracing the edge of Mom's necklace. "But what we need isn't jurisdiction there, we need you to deal with the corrupt cops enabling Kirsan's operations here in Seattle."

Rutledge's sharp eyes narrow. "You're suggesting there are officers on his payroll?"

"I know there are." My voice stays steady despite my racing heart. "Something this big can't operate without protection from corrupt police. You know this."

"I do." Rutledge's face hardens. "And as much as I want to put away every one of those corrupt bastards giving all of us a bad name, I fail to see a connection between what you're asking us to do and what Svoboda is already doing."

"Because shining a light on the problem isn't enough anymore." The words come out quickly as I lean forward. "These exposés, these interviews. They're just making the buyers more eager. What we need is to show that the law will respond."

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "No matter how many people we save, vigilante justice will never bring people the same assurance as actual law enforcement. That's why I'm coming to you now."

Rutledge studies me for a long moment, his pen tapping against his notepad. "You're asking me to trust that Svoboda's intentions are pure."

"I'm asking you to trust that we're on the same team," I correct him. "That we want justice for these women. That we want an end to trafficking, not just here in Seattle, but elsewhere as well."

Rutledge leans back, lips drawn in a taut line as he considers everything I've told him.

"Your claim sounds plausible," he says finally. "The connections, the timeline, even Mr. Walker's involvement. But I can't launch an internal investigation based on speculation alone, least of all speculation for someone who is still technically a person of interest in an active murder case."

"What kind of proof would you need?"

"Names. Dates. Specific instances of corruption." He taps his pen against the notepad. "Something concrete that shows which officers are on Kirsan's payroll and exactly what they're doing for him."

"And if we could get you that information?" I lean forward, heart racing. "What then?"

"Ifyou could provide evidence..." His emphasis on 'if' betrays his skepticism. "Then I could justify opening an internal investigation."

"I can get you what you need," I say firmly, feeling Aleksey shift beside me uncomfortably. "I promise."

"And just how do you intend to get me this information?" Rutledge asks, his sharp eyes boring into mine.

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