Chapter 132 The Whistleblower's Secret

The wind was cold in the hollow of Brookmere Park, where marble benches gleamed slick with rain and leaves clung to the iron fence like wilted hands. Genevieve pulled her coat tighter, her eyes scanning the tree line. She hadn’t spoken to anyone since she came to, on the floor of that cathedral, pulse thudding, blood humming with unfinished answers. Now, morning had barely broken, and she was meeting a stranger who claimed he once handled Everett’s financial books.