Page 60 of Rampage

"We need someone we can trust," my father interjects, his expression thoughtful. "Someone with the authority to act but no connection to this town or these officials."

Tiffany nods slowly. "I have a contact at the Justice Department. Federal prosecutor I went to law school with. She specializes in cases involving corruption and sex crimes."

"Can she be trusted?" I ask, my arm tightening protectively around Lily.

"Completely."

seven

Lily

I stare at the laptop screen, my mouth dry, trying to process what I'm seeing. Frank's network of corruption spreads like poison through every system that was supposed to protect me—judges, police officers, social workers. The very people I was taught to trust.

My stomach twists into knots as a terrible question forms in my mind.

"Why didn't he ever sell me?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. The room falls silent, all eyes turning to me. I clear my throat and try again. "The other girls… some of them were…" I can't finish the sentence, but I don't need to. The evidence speaks for itself. "Why keep me just for himself?" The question burns in my throat. "He had all these connections, all these powerful people. Why didn't he use me like he used the others?"

Reid's body tenses beside me. I can feel the controlled rage vibrating through him.

Tiffany sets down her pen, her professional mask slipping to reveal genuine compassion. "That's actually something I was wondering about. I've been reviewing the files chronologically, and there seems to be a pattern."

She turns the laptop away from me, sparing me from seeing more images, and types something quickly. "The earlier girls—Sarah, Kimberly, Jasmine—there's evidence they were… shared. With some of these officials." Her voice remains clinical, but I see the disgust in her expression. "But that pattern stopped about two years before you arrived."

"Something changed," Lane muses, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Or someone threatened him," Reid suggests, his voice a low rumble against my side.

I shake my head, trying to make sense of it. "Frank wasn't afraid of anyone. He had too many people in his pocket."

"Maybe it wasn't fear," Tiffany says slowly. "Maybe it was greed."

She clicks through a few more files, then turns the screen so I can see a document—not a photo this time, but what looks like a financial record.

"These payments started coming in regularly about two years before you were placed with him," she explains. "Large sums, from an offshore account. Untraceable."

I lean forward, squinting at the numbers. Thousands of dollars, every month, like clockwork.

"Someone was paying him," I murmur, the realization dawning slowly. "But why?"

"To keep you to himself," Reid says, the words falling like stones between us. His fingers flex against my shoulder, his touch both protective and possessive. "Someone wanted exclusive access."

The implication hits me like a physical blow. I press a hand to my mouth, fighting a sudden wave of nausea. Someone out there, someone with money and power, had been paying Frank for the privilege of being my sole abuser.

"Do we know who?" I manage to ask, though I'm not sure I want the answer.

Tiffany shakes her head. "Not yet. The transactions are carefully obscured. But it's a lead we can follow."

I feel Reid's eyes on me, gauging my reaction. When I look up at him, the raw fury in his gaze is tempered with something else—determination, yes, but also a fierce protectiveness that makes my heart stutter.

"We'll find them," he promises, his voice so low only I can hear it. "All of them. Every last person who hurt you or helped him hurt you."

I believe him. That's what terrifies me, and comforts me, the most. Reid won't stop until everyone responsible has paid for what they did.

"There's something else," Tiffany says, her voice pulling me back to the present. She hesitates, glancing between Reid and me. "The payments stopped abruptly around the time you ran away, Lily. And then, three weeks later, they resumed, but to a different account."

"What does that mean?" I ask, though a cold dread is already spreading through my chest.

"It means whoever was paying Frank didn't stop wanting you when you escaped," Reid says, his arm tightening around me. "They just started looking elsewhere."

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