Page 74 of Beneath the Surface

She flashed him a glare that held no weight, then she picked up the sandwich, took a bite mechanically. It tasted like nothing. Or maybe everything just tasted like grief and exhaustion.

Dax sat down across from her with his own food, but he wasn’t eating either. He was studying the documents, his detective’s brain working even now.

“We should organize this,” he said. “Build a timeline. Make sure we have everything in order for the DA.”

Quinn nodded. Work. She could focus on work. Work was easier than thinking about her grandmother in that bed, breathing those labored breaths, slipping away bit by bit.

They worked in silence for a while, sorting documents by date, by type, by relevance. Financial records here. Property deeds there. Photographs of Wheeler with various city officials, clearly taken from surveillance.

Her father had been thorough. Obsessive, even. Every detail documented, every connection mapped.

“He knew,” Quinn said softly. “He knew how dangerous Wheeler was. And he investigated anyway.”

“Because it was the right thing to do.” Dax looked up from a stack of bank statements. “Same reason you’re doing this now.”

“He died for it.”

“He would do it again. You know that.” Dax’s voice was gentle but firm. “Some things are worth the risk.”

Quinn wanted to argue, but she couldn’t. Because he was right. Her father had believed that truth mattered. That justice mattered. That exposing corruption and protecting the innocent was worth any personal cost.

She believed it too.

“Wait.” Dax was staring at something—a small envelope tucked inside a folder of financial records. “What’s this?”

He pulled it out carefully. The envelope was sealed, yellowed with age. On the front, her father’s handwriting.For Quinn—When you’re ready to know everything.

Quinn’s breath caught. “That’s...that’s Dad’s handwriting.”

Dax handed it to her carefully, as if it might shatter.

Her hands shook as she opened it. Inside was a single piece of paper and something small and metallic—another key.

Quinn unfolded the paper, her father’s familiar script swimming before her eyes.

Quinn,

If you’re reading this, then you’ve already found the first cache of evidence. You’ve seen the financial records, the property deeds, the photographs. You know what Wheeler is.

But there’s more.

I couldn’t risk keeping everything in one place. If Wheeler’s people found the safe deposit box, I needed insurance. I needed to make sure the whole truth survived.

There’s a second box. First National Bank, Portland. Box #2847. This key will open it.

Inside, you’ll find video testimony. Not just mine—others too. People who were too afraid to come forward while Wheeler had power, but who trusted me to protect their stories.

This is the heart of it, Quinn. The proof that will end him.

I’m sorry I’m not there to help you through this. I’m sorry you have to be the one to finish what I started. But I know you can do it. You’re stronger than you know. Braver than you believe.

Make him pay, Quinn. For all of us.

I love you.

—Dad

Quinn’s tears fell onto the paper, smudging the ink. She tried to speak and couldn’t. Just held the letter, this last message from her father, and sobbed.