Some were decades old. Some new. Some involved women I had met only briefly at Linda’s church luncheons, neighborhood fundraisers, military spouse events. Women who had divorced suddenly, vanished socially, lost homes, lost custody battles, lost jobs after rumors spread through channels no one could trace.
Linda had not collected badges.
She had collected leverage.
And then one of the agents lifted out a black ledger.
The cover was worn at the corners. A ribbon marked a page near the middle.
Price opened it.
Her expression changed.
“What is it?” I asked.
She did not answer immediately.
Instead, she looked past me toward Linda.
“Where did you get these names?”
Linda’s face had gone gray.
“Old friends,” she whispered.
Price turned the ledger so I could see.
The pages were filled with columns: names, dates, payments, favors, outcomes.
Some entries were mundane. A county clerk. A banker. A private investigator. A retired judge.
Then I saw the section marked military.
