Page 64 of Beneath the Surface

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The DA’s office was in the county courthouse—an imposing brick building with columns flanking the entrance. Dax arrived first, parked in the visitor lot. Watched for Quinn’s car.

She pulled in ten minutes later. Parked three spaces away from him. Got out and headed for the building without waiting.

Dax caught up with her at the entrance. “Quinn—”

“Not now. We have a meeting.” She didn’t slow down.

Inside, they went through security. Metal detectors. Visitor badges. The whole routine. Quinn walked slightly ahead of him, her heels clicking on the marble floor. Maintaining that careful distance.

DA Clarissa Sanders’ office was on the third floor. It was a large corner office with windows overlooking downtown Blackridge. Sanders herself was in her early fifties, sharp eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, silver-streaked black hair pulled back in a tight bun.

“Detective Mercer. Ms. Barrett.” She gestured to chairs across from her desk. “Please, sit. Detective Black speaks highly of your investigation.”

They sat. Dax noticed Quinn chose the chair farthest from him. Her hands were folded in her lap, her expression professional and closed off.

“We appreciate you taking the time,” Dax said.

“Well, when Carson says I should look at a case, I listen.” Sanders pulled out a legal pad. “Walk me through what you have.”

For the next two hours, they presented the evidence. Dax handled the law enforcement perspective—investigative procedures, chain of custody, legal implications. Quinn provided the journalistic context—her father’s research, background on Wheeler, connections between seemingly unrelated crimes.

They worked together seamlessly. Professional. Efficient. Anyone watching would think they were perfect partners.

But there was no warmth between them. No casual touches or shared glances. No moments of connection. Just cold professionalism.

Sanders took notes throughout. Asked pointed questions. Examined key documents.

Finally, she sat back. “This is impressive work. Both from David Barrett originally and from you continuing his investigation.”

“What about charges?” Quinn leaned forward, her voice controlled. “Can you prosecute?”

“For the financial crimes? Absolutely. Money laundering, tax fraud, racketeering. We have solid evidence.” Sanders pulled out several files. “Murder will be harder. Unless we can prove Wheeler ordered the deaths directly.”

“He tried to kill me,” Quinn said. “Put a bomb under my car. That’s attempted murder.”

“Do you have direct evidence linking Wheeler to the bomb?”

“Not yet,” Dax admitted. “Bomb squad traced components but they’re commercially available. No fingerprints. No direct connection to Wheeler.”

“Then we charge what we can prove.” Sanders began making notes. “I’ll need to present this to a grand jury. Get indictments. That’ll take a few weeks.”

“Weeks?” Quinn’s voice rose slightly. “Wheeler knows we have evidence. He’s not going to wait around.”

“Which is why I’m requesting immediate warrants for Wheeler’s arrest and asset seizure. I can probably get Judge Roberts to sign off by tomorrow morning.” Sanders looked at Dax. “Can you execute the arrest?”

“Personally.” Dax’s voice was firm.

“Good. Because this needs to be airtight. Wheeler will hire the best defense attorneys. Every step must be by the book.”

Sanders turned to Quinn. “You’ll need to testify before the grand jury. Are you prepared?”

“Absolutely.” Quinn’s chin lifted.

“Excellent. I’ll have my office contact you.” Sanders stood, extending her hand. “This is good work. If we can make these charges stick, we’re taking down a major criminal operation.”

They gathered their materials and left. In the hallway, Quinn moved toward the elevator. Dax followed.