Page 140 of Only the Hunter

“He was in a Russian prison?” I ask, confirming. “And you heard a deal had been made, but then…”

“It was announced he died in the line of fire.”

“And that could be true, if he died in prison.”

“I’d say it’s more likely either he died in prison for health reasons, or someone didn’t want the deal to be brokered. There’s a good chance you’ll never learn what really happened. It’s unlikely anything is documented. If that’s your reason for joining the NSA…” She lets it trail.

“Well, thank you. For sharing.” The information doesn’t make me feel better—or worse. I need time to absorb it. At the end of the day, it means that the CIA’s version might actually be accurate, as far as cleaned versions go. They wouldn’t want to implicate Russia directly, so it would fit they wouldn’t tell us the truth.

“James loved you. And your mom. That’s what he would believe is the important thing for you to remember.”

I hear what she’s saying. I file it—not away, just aside. There’ll be time for it later.

“I actually requested this meeting because of your connections with Meridian.” She straightens—I’ve surprised her.

“Go on.”

I lean forward slightly, elbows on my knees. “Meridian Risk Solutions. You’ve done consulting work for them.”

She goes still. For three seconds, she doesn’t move at all. Then she reaches up and removes her sunglasses, folding them carefully before setting them on the bench between us.

Her eyes are pale blue, shot through with fine red lines. Tired eyes. Wary eyes.

“Who told you that?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does if you’re working with people who have access to my financial records.”

“We’re not pulling bank statements, if that’s what you’re worried about. Your name came up in connection to Meridian executives. Phone records. Meeting logs.”

She exhales slowly, her breath visible in the cold air. “I’ve done a few consulting calls. Background assessments on certain operations. Nothing extensive.”

“What kind of operations?”

“The kind where people need to know if something can be verified, disproven, or buried.” She shifts on the bench, pulling her coat tighter. “Meridian isn’t what it looks like on paper, Gabe. They’re not just a PAC advisory firm managing donor relations.”

“What are they?”

“They provide deniability. They move information quietly—between government, private sector, and…” She pauses, choosing her words. “Other interests. They facilitate access. They connect people who shouldn’t be connected on paper.”

“People like you.”

“Former intelligence officers, yes. People who know how systems work. How to access sealed files. How to make problems disappear.” She meets my eyes. “How to shut down federal investigations when the right person makes a phone call.”

My pulse kicks up. “You’re talking about Evie’s case.”

“I’m talking about how these things work.” Her voice stays level, but there’s an edge now. “If Meridian is involved in a DOJ case being killed, it’s because someone with money—real money—wants that case dead. And Meridian specializes in making official channels do exactly what their clients want.”

“Who are the clients?”

“I can’t give you names. Won’t.” She shakes her head. “But the kind of people who use Meridian’s services? They’re not cartel foot soldiers. They’re not street-level criminals. They’re boardrooms. Investment portfolios. Hedge funds. People who see trafficking as a supply chain solution, not a moral problem.”

Jesus.

“These people—they’d have access to DOJ files? Witness locations?”

“Not directly. But they’d hire people who do. Meridian keeps former DOJ attorneys on retainer. Former DHS officials. People who still have friends in the system. People who can make a call and get answers that shouldn’t be available.”