Avery suspected that, if her wild theory were correct, none of the other specimens salvaged from the Twin Towers would belong to Victoria Ford.
CHAPTER 42
Manhattan, NY Sunday, July 4, 2021
HE CHECKED HIS WATCH AND THEN GLANCED AT HIS PHONE ON THE passenger’s seat. He resisted the urge to text Avery. He’d woken this morning to find her already gone, vanished without a trace other than her scent on the pillow next to him. No note. No voice mail. No text. On a different morning or with a different woman, this would have confused or embarrassed him. Perhaps some of that still existed now, but he and Avery had plans to rip through the rest of the Cameron Young file later in the day, so Walt chalked up the disappearing act to Avery chasing down leads sniffed out during their initial review of the case. He was doing the same.
His and Avery’s dive into the Cameron Young investigation had him curious, if not worried. Specifically because he knew the box of files sitting in his hotel room did not tell the full story. As soon as Walt woke, he called Jim Oliver and requested some federal bureaucratic pressure be applied to the US Attorney’s Office in the Southern District of New York, who had up to this point refused to return Walt’s calls. Walt found himself in a unique position of power. Jim Oliver needed Walt’s skills in the delicate matter of locating Garth Montgomery, and now Walt needed Oliver’s influence to find whatever additional information was out there on the Cameron Young case. Walt’s curiosity had nothing to do with the investigation into Garth Montgomery, but he convinced Oliver that it was imperative to locate any lost evidence pertaining to the twenty-year-old case. Walt knew the US Attorney’s Office possessed what he needed.
Calls were made, pressure was placed, and over a holiday weekend the right people were pulled from vacation to get it done. Walt had his answer, and locating the missing files was easier than he imagined. Originally confiscated from Maggie Greenwald’s office—the DA who was set to prosecute the case—during the investigation into her misconduct, the US Attorney’s Office had eventually shipped the evidence back to the BCI headquarters for storage.
As Walt pulled into the empty parking lot at just past 11:00 a.m. on Sunday morning, a wave of nostalgia came over him. He hadn’t called the Bureau of Criminal Investigation his employer for twenty years. But he’d cut his teeth here, and the place held good memories. He relished them until he saw the lone car parked in front of the building. He knew it belonged to his old boss. Scott Sherwood was on his shit list.
Walt pulled into a parking spot and turned off the engine. He saw Sherwood standing in front of the BCI building, whose glass facade reflected his image back at Walt as if he were watching himself on a theater screen. He had now seen Scott Sherwood exactly twice in the last fifteen years. Today, and three weeks earlier when Sherwood crashed the survivors meeting at the Ascent Lounge with the sole purpose of figuring out where Walt was spending his time. The “accidental” meeting had given Jim Oliver just enough information to track Walt down in Jamaica and start him on his current course. He no more wanted to talk with Scott Sherwood this morning than he wanted a hemorrhoid removed.
“Walt Jenkins,” Scott said with a huge smile as Walt climbed from his car. “Twice in one year. Go figure.”
“Fuck off, Scott,” Walt said, closing the door and walking up to his old boss. Illogical reasoning allowed Walt to be less angry with Jim Oliver for planting Sherwood at the survivors meeting than he was with Sherwood for going along with it. Perhaps it was because, as a former surveillance agent, Walt appreciated Oliver’s cleverness in finding him. The truth was more likely that Walt was frustrated with himself for having taken the bait.
“What’s gotten into you?” Sherwood asked.
“I’m not in the mood, Scott. I know our little run-in the other day was bullshit. You were a plant. Do you think I’m too stupid to figure it out?”
“Jesus Christ, settle down. The FBI came knocking on my door. They literally knocked on the front door of my house. Was I supposed to turn them away? Sorry, pal, I don’t carry that kind of clout. Jim Oliver said he needed to figure out where you were holed up. Said it was important. I didn’t know it was going to put you in a bind.”
“It hasn’t,” Walt said in a dismissive tone. “I just don’t like being played. Do you have what I need?”
“Yeah,” Scott said. “I found it about an hour ago. Hidden way in the back of the evidence room. What’s so important about it?”
“It’s just an old case, Scott. I was asked to look into it; that’s all I can tell you.”
“Does it have to do with the Maggie Greenwald scandal?”
“I’m about to find out. Where is it?”
Scott pointed over his shoulder. “Inside. A single box. Looks pretty innocuous.”
Scott Sherwood unlocked the door to the BCI headquarters and held it open for Walt to enter.
“Does this mean the invitation to visit you in Jamaica is rescinded?”
“It means it never existed, Scott.”
*
Two hours later, Walt was sitting in his suite at the Hyatt with a second evidence box resting on the table in front of him. He paged through it for fifteen minutes, reading carefully until he found what he needed. Until he found what he hoped wasn’t there.
He picked up his phone. Avery hadn’t attempted to reach out to him. He typed a short text and sent it off to her.
Found something new in the Cameron Young file. Need to talk asap.
CHAPTER 43
Manhattan, NY Sunday, July 4, 2021
AVERY’S LAPTOP SAT OPEN ON THE DESK IN THE CORNER OF HER HOTEL room. The face of American Events executive producer and Avery’s best friend, Christine Swanson, was on the screen linked through an online meeting app.
“What’s going on?” Christine asked.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but you’re the only one I can share this with.”
Avery watched Christine on the monitor as she analyzed Avery’s hotel room. After her meeting with Livia Cutty, Avery had found a copy shop where she had each of Victoria Ford’s manuscripts printed. Now, organized stacks of computer paper occupied the king-sized bed. On top of each stack rested a single paperback book.
“I told you about Victoria Ford’s sister, Emma.”
“Right,” Christine said. “She had the recording of Victoria from the morning of 9/11. I can’t wait to get my hands on it. We could do a lot of great stuff with it.”
Throughout her time in New York, Avery had kept Christine up to date on her discoveries regarding Victoria Ford and Cameron Young. Great stuff meant Christine and her team would produce the hell out of the recordings, making them both chilling and suspenseful. Avery imagined a short clip of Victoria Ford’s voice playing just before a commercial break, anchoring fifteen million viewers to their televisions in stunned silence.
“I know you’ll make it amazing,” Avery said. “But in addition to the recordings, Emma Kind also shared all this with me. Well, accidentally shared it.” She motioned to the stacks of paper.
“What is all that?” Christine asked, leaning toward the computer camera so her face filled the entire screen.