Page 90 of Beneath the Surface

Clarissa Sanders was in her early fifties, with steel-gray hair she wore in a practical bob and sharp features that made her look perpetually skeptical. She’d been DA for six years, had a conviction rate over 90%, and didn’t tolerate bullshit from anyone—cops, criminals, or politicians.

Quinn liked her immediately.

“This is...extensive,” Sanders said, gesturing to the screen. “Your father documented everything. Financial records, property transfers, witness testimony. And these videos—” She shook her head. “How many people did he interview?”

“Thirty-seven,” Quinn said. “People Wheeler victimized, threatened, or whose loved ones died under suspicious circumstances.”

“Including Leesa Fine.” Sanders’ eyes flicked to Dax. “Your fiancée, Detective Mercer?”

Dax’s jaw tightened. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. She was brave to come forward.” Sanders turned back to the screen. “And this testimony from Clara—” She looked at the frightened woman across from her. “Ms. Mendez, you’re willing to testify that James Wheeler ordered the beating of George Preston? That you witnessed his men assault Mr. Preston and heard them threaten him on Wheeler’s orders?”

Clara’s hands twisted harder in her lap. “Yes. I was working late, cleaning the offices at Wheeler Development. I heard shouting in the parking garage. Saw two of Wheeler’s men—his security people—beating Mr. Preston. They said, ‘Mr. Wheeler wants his money’ and ‘You should’ve kept your mouth shut.’ George collapsed. I tried to help but he died before the ambulance came.”

“And you’re certain these men worked for Wheeler?”

“I’d seen them before. They were always around Wheeler’s properties, handling his ‘problems.’” Clara’s voice shook. “After George died, Wheeler’s people came to me. Said if I talked to police about what I saw, my children would have an ‘accident.’ That’s when I ran. Changed my name. Disappeared.”

“Federal witness protection,” Sanders said firmly. “New identities, new location, full security detail until Wheeler is convicted and sentenced. You’ll be untouchable.”

Clara didn’t look like she believed anyone could be untouchable from James Wheeler, but she nodded.

Sanders closed the laptop and leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled under her chin. “Here’s what I can do withthis evidence. I can bring charges for fraud, conspiracy, bribery, multiple counts of negligent homicide in the fire deaths, and potentially second-degree murder in Thomas Crane’s death. David Barrett’s death is going to be harder—it’s been ten years, the physical evidence is gone—but with this testimony and the pattern of behavior, we might be able to build a case.”

“What about Leesa Fine?” Dax’s voice was tight, controlled. “Her death?”

“Same issue. It was officially ruled an accident. We’d need new evidence, a witness who can directly tie Wheeler to ordering the hit.” Sanders looked at Clara. “Did you ever hear Wheeler talk about Ms. Fine’s death?”

Clara shook her head. “I was already gone by then.”

Quinn saw the muscle in Dax’s jaw jump, but he said nothing.

“Well,” Sanders continued, “what we have is more than enough to arrest Wheeler and hold him for trial. The financial crimes alone carry significant prison time. And if we can get one of his associates to flip—someone who actually carried out the murders—we can add those charges too.”

Quinn leaned forward. “How soon can you move?”

“I’ll present to the judge this afternoon. Get an arrest warrant issued by end of day. Wheeler will be in custody by tonight.” Sanders stood, extending her hand. “Ms. Barrett, your father would be proud of what you’ve accomplished here. This is good work.”

Quinn shook her hand, feeling a flutter of hope in her chest.Tonight. Wheeler would be arrested tonight.

“What happens after he’s arrested?” Clara asked, her voice small.

“Arraignment within forty-eight hours. He’ll be formally charged, enter a plea—almost certainly not guilty. Then we’ll set a trial date.” Sanders looked at Clara kindly. “You’ll be safe throughout this process, Ms. Mendez. I promise you that.”

Clara nodded, but Quinn could see she was trembling.

***

They left the DA’s office and headed to a safe house the FBI had arranged for Clara and her children—a nondescript ranch house in a quiet suburban neighborhood, with two agents assigned to watch her around the clock.

Agent Torres had been brought in to coordinate Clara’s protection and met them at the door. “Ms. Mendez,” Torres said, her voice warm. “We have your room ready. Your children will be brought here tomorrow once we’ve secured their transport from Spokane.”

“They’re okay?” Clara asked immediately. “No one’s approached them?”

“They’re fine. Safe. We have agents with them right now.” Torres gestured inside. “Come on. Let me show you around.”

As Clara disappeared into the house with Torres, Nathan turned to Quinn and Dax.