The stranger’s hand trembled so violently that his phone almost slipped from his grip. He wore a dark green Bradley University hoodie pulled low over his forehead, his eyes darting back toward the empty hallway like a hunted animal.

"The cops will destroy it if I hand it over to the local precinct," I said, dropping the cufflink into the bag. "The Peoria police chief is on Senator Vance’s donor list. I checked his campaign finance records while waiting for you."

"Then we don't give it to local cops," Mac said. "We take it to the FBI field office in Chicago."

"They’ll take days to process a warrant," I replied, looking down at the cufflink. "By then, Vance will have cleaned his son’s clothes, scrubbed his car, and bought three alibis. I'm not waiting for bureaucratic permission."

"Dan..." Mac warned, catching my tone. "You're not on active duty anymore. You can't just breach and clear a fraternity house."

"Watch me."

Leaving Mac with the armed security guards to protect Lily and Julian, I left the hospital.

The night air had turned freezing cold. The rain had cleared, leaving the streets of Peoria glistening under the orange streetlight glow. I pulled my old leather jacket tight, got into my truck, and headed straight toward the Bradley University campus.

The Kappa Alpha Chi house was a massive, three-story brick mansion sitting on the edge of campus. Even at 4:30 a.m., bass was still thumping faintly from the basement windows. Red plastic cups littered the front lawn.

I parked around the corner in a dark alley, pulled a flashlight and a pair of tactical gloves from my glovebox, and checked my belt. No weapons—I wasn't here to commit a murder, I was here to gather intel. But if someone got in my way, I wasn't going to pull my punches either.

I moved through the shadows of the tree line, approaching the back door near the kitchen. The lock was a basic pin-tumbler deadbolt. Using a pocket tension wrench, I opened it in less than eight seconds.

The house smelled of stale beer, weed, and sweat. I slipped inside, stepping silently over discarded shoes and pizza boxes.

I navigated the dark hallways up to the third floor, where the fraternity officers had their private rooms. A bronze plaque on the end door read: MARCUS VANCE - PRESIDENT.

I reached for the handle. Locked.

I pulled out my lockpick set again, but before I could insert the pick, I heard heavy footsteps coming up the wooden stairs.

I ducked into an alcove behind a decorative shield mounted on the wall.

Two guys walked up the hallway. It was Tyler and Brody—the two frat brothers Julian had named. Brody had a visible scratch across his neck, fresh and red.

"Is the senator sure the camera footage is gone?" Brody asked nervously, rubbing his neck. "That fucking girl grabbed me before Marcus hit her."

"Relax," Tyler grunted, opening his door. "The Senator’s security team took the hard drives from Olin Hall hours ago. They're already melted down. The girl’s wired shut and can't talk. Even if she wakes up, it’s her word against three frat brothers and a Senator."

"What about her dad?" Brody asked. "I saw him at the hospital. He looks like a guy who’s killed people."

"He’s a washed-up veteran with no money," Tyler sneered. "What’s he gonna do? Sue us? Marcus’s dad will tie him up in court until he goes bankrupt."

They stepped into Tyler’s room and shut the door.

My blood was boiling, but I forced my breathing to stay slow and steady. Discipline over anger.

I unlocked Marcus’s door and slipped inside, shutting it behind me.

The room was luxurious—king bed, expensive audio gear, silver trophies. On the desk lay Marcus’s open laptop and a heap of dirty clothes thrown near the closet.

I rushed to the pile of clothes. A white dress shirt lay near the top.