“We’ve got her. Carolina’s talking. She’s confirming everything—the drugging protocols, the abuse, the cover-ups. Gene, she has names. Staff members who participated. Patients who were killed. I’m recording already.”
Gene exhaled. They were building a case the system could not ignore.
And yet something bothered him.
This was too easy.
The Sparks family had spent years covering tracks, silencing witnesses, destroying evidence. Why would Carolina suddenly decide to talk now?
His phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
It was a photo of Marcus and Leanne sitting in the coffee shop with Carolina, taken through the window from outside.
Another text followed.
Did you really think we wouldn’t be watching?
Gene’s blood went cold.
He called Marcus.
Voicemail.
He called Leanne.
Also voicemail.
He grabbed his keys and ran.
The coffee shop was fifteen minutes away. He made it in eight, running red lights and weaving through traffic. Marcus’s car was still parked outside, but the shop was dark and locked. Gene pressed his face to the window.
Empty.
He called McIntyre as he circled the building.
“I need help. My daughter and my partner were meeting a witness. Now they’re gone.”
“What’s the address?”
He gave it to her. She said units were on the way.
In the alley behind the coffee shop, Gene found Marcus’s phone cracked and lying in a puddle.
Then his own phone rang.
Brent.
“Looking for Leanne?” Brent asked, his voice smug.
“Don’t worry. She’s safe. For now. She’s back where she belongs.”
“If you touch her—”
“You’ll what?” Brent laughed. “You already broke into my home, assaulted my family, and stole my wife. I think we’re past threats.”
“What do you want?”
“Everything you’ve collected. Every document, every recording, every piece of evidence. Bring it all to the Scottsdale Spark Center. Alone. Tonight. Or Leanne learns what real pain feels like.”
“Let me talk to her.”
There was a pause.
Then Leanne’s voice came on, terrified and thin.
“Dad, don’t—”
The line cut off.
Rain began to fall.
Gene stood in that alley with water dripping down the back of his neck, his mind racing. They had Leanne. They probably had Marcus too. And they wanted the only leverage he had.
If he went to the police, the Sparks might move Leanne before anyone found her.
If he gave them the evidence, they would kill all three of them.
There was only one option.
Gene got into his car and headed for Scottsdale.
But he was not bringing surrender.
He was bringing war.
The Scottsdale Spark Center sat on ten acres of desert land, built to resemble a luxury resort. Adobe-style buildings ringed a central courtyard with fountains and desert gardens. High walls topped with decorative ironwork doubled as security fencing. Gene had already studied the layout during his research: five patient buildings, an administration building, staff quarters, and a medical facility.
Underground, there was a basement level missing from the public blueprints but visible in electrical permits. That was probably where they kept the difficult patients, the ones no one was supposed to see.
It was nearly midnight when Gene reached the main gate.
The guard booth was empty, but the gate opened automatically as he approached. He was expected.
He crossed the courtyard carrying a laptop bag. Inside were Paula’s files and recordings—but only copies. The originals had already been distributed across secure servers and sent to three journalists with instructions to publish everything if Gene failed to check in by morning.
The front door of the administration building opened.
Edna Sparks stood there with two security guards.
“Gene,” she said. “Prompt as always. Do you have what we asked for?”
“Where’s Leanne?”
“Safe. Show me the evidence first.”
