Chapter 2 The First Clue

The motel room was spartan and dimly lit, but Erica had chosen it for its anonymity, not its ambiance. The peeling wallpaper and faint smell of mildew didn't bother her-she'd stayed in worse places during her years of research trips. What mattered was the privacy it offered. She sat at the small desk by the window, her laptop open in front of her, and the notes she'd taken from Victor Kane's rambling confession spread out beside her.

Victor had been terrified, spilling everything he knew in a trembling voice, but much of it was useless. The man was a coward, quick to shift blame and evade responsibility. Still, Erica had pieced together a few key details about the others.

Her next target was Mark Callahan, a former police officer who had retired early under dubious circumstances. According to Victor, Mark had been the one to "clean up" the mess after Lillian's death, ensuring that no evidence pointed back to their group. Erica's stomach churned at the thought. How many lives had Mark ruined with his badge and his lies?

Erica leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. She felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her, but she couldn't rest. Not yet.

Opening a secure browser on her laptop, she began searching for information on Mark. She knew from Victor that he lived in a small town about fifty miles away, in a house on the edge of a sprawling forest. He had a reputation for keeping to himself, which would make approaching him more challenging.

As she scrolled through property records, social media profiles, and news articles, Erica's mind wandered back to the trial. She hadn't been in the courtroom herself-her parents had insisted on shielding her from the worst of it-but she'd followed every update from a distance. She remembered the sinking feeling of watching the case unravel, the way the defense had painted Lillian as reckless and unstable. And she remembered Mark's testimony, the calm, authoritative voice of a man who claimed to know the truth.

It was a lie, all of it.

Erica clenched her fists, forcing herself to focus. Mark wasn't untouchable anymore. She had the knowledge and the resources to bring him down, and she would.

---

The next morning, Erica packed her belongings and checked out of the motel. She stopped by a diner for a quick breakfast, keeping her head down as she sipped her coffee and reviewed her notes one last time. Mark's address was listed as a remote property off a dirt road, with no neighbors for miles. The isolation worked in Erica's favor-no one would hear him scream.

She finished her coffee and left a few bills on the table before heading back to her car. The drive to Mark's house was uneventful, the scenery shifting from suburban sprawl to rolling hills and dense forests. Erica's GPS directed her onto a narrow dirt road that wound through the trees, the sunlight barely breaking through the canopy.

When she reached the house, she parked a short distance away and approached on foot, her bag slung over her shoulder. The house was a modest, one-story structure with a sagging roof and a faded American flag hanging by the front door. A rusted truck was parked in the driveway, and a dog barked somewhere in the distance.

Erica crouched behind a tree, surveying the property. She spotted Mark through the window, sitting at a table with a beer in hand. He looked older than she remembered, his hair thinning and his face lined with age. But there was a hardness in his eyes that hadn't faded-a reminder of the man he used to be.

Erica took a deep breath and adjusted the strap of her bag. She wasn't here to pity him. She was here to get answers.

---

Breaking into Mark's house was easier than she expected. The back door was unlocked, and the sound of the television masked the creak of the floorboards as she stepped inside. The house smelled of stale beer and fried food, and the cluttered counters suggested Mark didn't get many visitors.

Erica moved quickly, slipping into a side room that appeared to be an office. The desk was piled with papers and unopened mail, and a bookshelf in the corner was filled with old police manuals and hunting guides. She searched through the desk drawers, her gloved hands careful not to leave any traces behind.

In the bottom drawer, she found a stack of files labeled with dates and case numbers. Most of them appeared to be routine reports from Mark's time on the force, but one folder caught her attention. It was marked with a single word: "Carter."

Erica's heart raced as she opened the folder. Inside were photocopies of police reports, witness statements, and photographs. Her hands trembled as she flipped through the pages, each one a painful reminder of the trial. But there were also documents she hadn't seen before-evidence that had never been presented in court.

One photograph showed a group of men standing outside a bar, their faces blurred by poor lighting. Erica recognized Victor and Mark immediately, but the others were unfamiliar. She scanned the accompanying report, her eyes narrowing as she read the details. The men had been questioned as part of an unrelated investigation, but their connection to Lillian's case was undeniable.

"Gotcha," Erica whispered.

---

She was so engrossed in the files that she didn't hear the footsteps behind her until it was too late.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Erica spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. Mark stood in the doorway, a shotgun in his hands. His eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of her, his expression shifting from confusion to recognition.

"You," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I know who you are."

Erica raised her hands, trying to keep her voice steady. "I'm not here to hurt you, Mark. I just want the truth."

"The truth?" Mark barked out a bitter laugh. "You think you can just break into my house and demand answers? You've got a lot of nerve, lady."

"I know what you did," Erica said, her tone cold. "You covered for them. You destroyed evidence. You lied under oath."

Mark's grip on the shotgun tightened. "You don't know anything."

"I know enough," Erica shot back. "And if you don't start talking, I'll make sure the whole world knows too."

Mark hesitated, his gaze flicking to the folder in Erica's hands. For a moment, she thought he might lower the gun. But then he lunged at her, and she barely had time to react.

---

The struggle was chaotic and brutal. Mark was strong, but Erica was faster, using her smaller size to her advantage. She dodged his swings and managed to grab the edge of the shotgun, wrenching it from his hands.

The weapon clattered to the floor, and Erica kicked it out of reach. Mark snarled and charged at her again, but she was ready. She grabbed a heavy book from the shelf and slammed it into his temple, sending him crashing to the ground.

Gasping for breath, Erica stood over him, her hands trembling. Mark groaned and tried to push himself up, but she grabbed the shotgun and pointed it at him.

"Stay down," she said, her voice shaking with adrenaline.

Mark glared at her, blood trickling down the side of his face. "What do you want from me?"

"I want the truth," Erica said. "Why did you cover for them? What did they have on you?"

Mark hesitated, his eyes darting toward the folder.

"They paid me off," he admitted, his voice bitter. "A lot of money. Enough to make sure I kept my mouth shut."

Erica's stomach turned. "And you were okay with that? You were okay with letting them destroy an innocent girl's life?"

Mark's expression darkened. "It wasn't just the money. They threatened my family. My wife, my kids-they said they'd come after them if I didn't play along."

Erica stared at him, her anger boiling over. "So you chose to protect yourself instead of doing the right thing."

Mark didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the floor.

"You're a coward," Erica said, her voice cold. "And you're going to pay for what you've done."

---

Erica left the house an hour later, her bag heavier with the evidence she had taken. Mark wouldn't be able to stop her-she had tied him up and left him in the living room, his phone smashed to prevent him from calling for help.

As she drove away, she felt a grim sense of satisfaction. She had the proof she needed to take down the rest of them, and she wouldn't stop until every one of them had answered for their crimes.

But as the adrenaline faded, a nagging doubt crept into her mind. Mark's confession had been pitiful, full of excuses and self-pity. And yet, there had been a flicker of something else in his voice-regret, perhaps, or guilt.

For a moment, Erica wondered if she had gone too far. But then she thought of Lillian, of the pain and humiliation her sister had endured, and her resolve hardened.

There was no room for mercy.