Page 13 of Her Last Confession

But it was the last connection that made her sit up straight. She came across it just as Novak was saying goodbye to his wife—apparently having managed to wrangle the phone away from their son. She clicked through several links in rapid succession, confirming what she'd found.

"Find something?" Novak asked, noticing her change in posture.

"More than something. Get this…the CEO of Carson Industries is a guy named Victor Reeves. And Reeves justhappens to sit on the board of MedTech Solutions. Ring any bells?"

Novak frowned, navigating around a slow-moving truck. "Should it?"

"MedTech Solutions has hired several engineers from EndLight.”

“So…the guy who Sandra Mitchell discovered was involved in insurance fraud sits on the board of the company who builds the suicide pods…one of which she was found dead in.” He did not phrase it as a question, but as a statement.

“Seems that way. Only…we have to go back to the fact that the pod we saw was not an actual EndLight one.”

“But it was damn close,” Novak pointed out.

“So that all links Reeves to Sandra Mitchell in two ways,” she said. “Even if one is sort of a stretch.”

“Sounds like a suspect to me,” Novak said.

“Me, too.”

"But he’s a CEO…a hot shot kind of guy, right?” Novak said. “Why would he risk something so out in the open and…and, well,weird?”

“No clue. But one thing I’ve learned in this job is that sometimes men with lots of money and power start to think they can get away with anything. If he’s not the killer, I can guarantee he’s connected tosomething."

They drove on through the afternoon with their first real suspect somewhere up ahead. She knew that Saturday afternoons were traditionally not an easy time to easily locate people, but she suddenly felt that they needed to do whatever was necessary to find Victor Reeves as soon as possible.

CHAPTER NINE

The Carson Industries building loomed before them, a glass and steel monolith reflecting the overcast sky. Rachel pulled into the nearly empty parking lot, her eyes scanning the handful of cars scattered across the vast expanse of asphalt. A sleek black Mercedes caught her attention, parked near the front of the building. The lot would likely be much busier on a weekday afternoon.

"Pretty quiet for a company under investigation," Novak remarked, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Well, itisthe weekend,” Rachel said. “Even crooked businessmen need some time off.”

Rachel noticed how Novak was already scanning the building's exterior, marking exits and entrance points—a habit she recognized from her own early days as an agent. As they approached the building, Rachel was already preparing herself to find the building locked. And even if they could get in, she doubted Reeves was there.

The main entrance was indeed locked, but through the tinted glass panels, they could make out a security guard stationed behind a curved desk, his attention fixed on a small TV mounted on the wall. Novak rapped his knuckles against the glass, pressing his badge against the surface. The sound echoed through the empty lobby.

The guard—young, maybe mid-twenties, with close-cropped hair and an eager-to-please expression—hurried to unlock the door. He opened it up with a smile, his eyes still taking in Novak's badge.

"Feds?" he asked, eyes widening as he examined their credentials. His nameplate readMartinez."What can I do for you?"

Rachel kept her voice neutral, professional. "We need to speak with Victor Reeves. If he's not in, we'll need his address."

Martinez's face brightened. "Oh, Mr. Reeves is here just about every Saturday...when he's not off traveling somewhere, that is." He gestured them inside the building and when they entered, Rachel thought it felt like a tomb—likely the result of such a large space being occupied by only Martinez on a Saturday afternoon.

Martinez seemed to sense their urgency so once he had locked the door back behind them, he nodded over toward the elevator bank all the way on the other side of the massive lobby. "Third floor. Can't miss his office—it's the one at the end of the hall, looking out over the woods."

The elevator ride was silent, but Rachel could feel Novak's nervous energy beside her. She knew he was still trying to prove himself to her, still trying to fill Jack's shoes. Sometimes his eagerness made her want to scream, but today she found it oddly comforting.At least he’s not doing that thing where he feels the need to fill every single silence with small talk,she thought.

The third floor was a maze of cubicles leading to a row of executive offices. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the empty workstations. Family photos and personal trinkets adorned the desks they passed, frozen moments of lives Rachel couldn't help but analyze. A habit from years of profiling that she'd never shake.

Rachel paused at one desk, her attention caught by a photo of a smiling woman with Sandra Mitchell. The frame was dusty, but the image was clear—two women celebrating something, champagne glasses raised.Another connection, Rachel thought, filing it away for later investigation.

Reeves's office was exactly where Martinez had said it would be. Through the glass walls, Rachel could see him hunched over his desk, his silver hair catching the light. The office itselfwas a statement of power—corner placement, floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive art on the walls. An enormous picture window along the back of the room looked out over an expanse of a field and a literal sea of trees—mostly pines and firs from what Rachel could tell.

Reeves looked up as they approached, his expression morphing from concentration to irritation.

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