Malcolm entered Sterling's office fully expecting getting answers wouldn't be easy. The man earned his reputation by being a shark inside the courtroom and out. By manipulating the law to his and his affluent clients advantage. By doing whatever it took to see them beat the charges leveled against them.

The photographs lining the wall opposite of where Sterling stood told a different story. Those pictures showed a man in complete contrast to the one his mother called The Devil.

That Sterling stood proud among people at protest rallies. Who fought diligently for civil rights. Who shook hands with men like Jesse Jackson.

Those images told Malcolm that Sterling had been a man of principle.

That he once held himself to a high standard.

Wanted to use the law to fight injustice and right wrongs.

That Sterling wouldn't have helped men like his father, John Watkins or Robert Harwood evade prosecution.

He wouldn't have helped get them placed in Claremont Psychiatric.

No, he'd have seen them punished for the crimes they committed.

Made sure their victims got the justice they deserved.

That their voices were heard.

So, what turned that activist into The Devil? Malcolm pondered that as he and Sterling stared at each other. Did Endicott discover something in his past that he used to compel the man to trade in his principles and become an attorney for serial killers and junk bond traders?

Asking him straight out if that's what happened wouldn't get him an answer. No more than it had gotten him the truth about who owned Corbell Laboratories. Appealing to the man Sterling had been before Endicott got his hooks into him was the only way Malcolm could get him to tell him what he needed.

"What happened to that man?" Malcolm nodded towards the pictures on the wall. "What made that activist give up his intention to use the law to help people?"

Indecision broke through the stone mask Sterling habitually wore. He wanted to talk. Malcolm could feel it. Something or someone held him back. And I have a good idea who that is.

"I think that man hates what he's become." There was a faint flinch. One Sterling did his best to hide. "I also think he hates the man who did it." He stepped forward and dropped his voice to a low, conspiratorial tone. "Come on, Sterling." He again indicated the pictures. "Be that guy and tell me about Endicott's lab."

Malcolm fully expected Sterling to deflect his questions with more legal jargon. He was surprised when the man sniffed softly and said, "It's funny, twenty years ago, I advised against that acquisition."

Malcolm's brow knit. "Why?" he asked.

"There's no money in DNA analysis." Sterling set the paper he had been about to put through the shredder on the edge of his desk and faced Malcolm. "Of course, profits have never been what Nicholas was after."

"He wanted power."

Power and control were the only things men like Endicott enjoyed.

"He's kept a lot of important people out of jail. And his price was..." A faint hint of bitterness coated his voice, the curve of his lips. "Almost reasonable."

Malcolm didn't even have to guess what that price was.

"He demands absolute loyalty."

"No," Sterling said. "That is the one thing you never tell Endicott."

"Why kill Eve?"

The question caught Sterling by surprise. For a minute, Malcolm almost believed he didn't know Endicott ordered her killed.

Almost.

"He must've been afraid she'd find her sister and the files Sophie stole from him."

"The files are real then?"

Excitement coursed through Malcolm. If he could find those files, he could bring Endicott down.

"If you want to prove your innocence, Malcolm?" Sterling came forward so he and Malcolm stood face-to-face. "Get your father to tell you where those files are. That's the..." A sound came from outside Sterling's office. A frown creased his brow as he lifted his head. "Did you bring someone here with you?"

Sorcha was waiting downstairs for him but there was no way he was going to reveal that to Sterling. Just because the man chose to help him didn't mean he trusted him.

Not completely.

"I didn't bring anyone with me."

Malcolm turned just as a bullet shattered the window behind him, sending glass to the floor in a waterfall of shards. He readied himself for the bright bite of the pain as the bullet entered his flesh.

Only, it never came.

He assumed the delivery man missed, but there was a sound, much like the one a wet mop made as it slapped onto tile. Puzzled, Malcolm turned towards Sterling, but froze when he saw the large red stain blossoming across the front of the lawyer's white shirt.

They shot Sterling and not me? was the first thought that went through his mind. But... His brow creased. That makes no sense.

Not unless...

Malcolm's heart slammed against his ribcage and his breath wheezed out from between lips that felt like they were frozen together as the awful truth of what happened slowly dawned on him.

Whoever had been sent here had not been hired to kill him.

No, they were there to make sure Sterling didn't talk.

My fault, he realized as what color drained from Sterling's face. This is my fault.

He got Sterling killed.

Same as he got Eve killed.

By sticking his nose in where he shouldn't have.

Sterling started to fall backward then.

Malcolm leapt forward and caught him, eased him to the floor.

"Sterling!" Malcolm pressed his hands to the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood but failing. "Hold on! You'll be okay."

Sterling groaned and groped for a fistful of his jacket. The eyes that raised to Malcolm's were blown wide with a deluge of shock, fear, and agony.

And acceptance, Malcolm realized as his hands became sticky.

Sterling knew he was gonna die and saw it as his penance for all the men and women he helped elude justice.

"You need... your dad," Sterling managed in a wet whisper. "He's the only one... who can end this."

Then he was gone, leaving Malcolm with bloodstained hands, and no way to logically explain what happened that wouldn't land him in hotter water than he already was in.

...

Malcolm had been inside for ten minutes.

A lifetime given the amount of danger surrounding her danger prone dope.

And he's up there without backup or a weapon to defend himself.

Nerves tingled, hands trembled, and thoughts whirled as Sorcha paced in front of the building.

Part of her hoped, prayed, Gil would catch wind of where they were, what they were doing, and show up to stop them.

The other part of her hoped, prayed he didn't because if he did, he'd be obligated to arrest her and Malcolm.

Not that Sorcha cared if she ended up going to jail. Long as they proved Malcolm's innocence and brought down Nicholas Endicott? She was fine with going to jail.

I have to find those files of dad's, she realized as car horn's bleated and people shouted around her. They're the only way to stop Endicott.

Turner said he hid the files in a place that had significance to her, Malcolm and her father.

The question was: where?

"Miss Corbin?"

Sorcha spun around, body taut, and hands clenched. Trust nobody not in their inner circle. That was what she and Malcolm agreed. However, the man who stood there looked vaguely familiar.

"I'm sorry," she said warily. "Do I know you?"

A faint smile curved the man's fleshy lips.

"Been about fifteen years since you saw me last." He held out a large hand. "Detective Gray. I know..."

"My uncle, Jamie." Sorcha nodded as she finally recognized the grizzled detective. "You graduated from the police academy together."

"Worked together in the 2-3 until he got transferred to special victims." Sorcha swore a faint hint of wistfulness shot through Detective Gray's pale eyes but it was gone so fast she was left wondering if she had seen it. "Those were good days. Worked with a lot of good men and women back then."

"Uncle Jamie speaks highly of you."

"He's a good man, your uncle. Both of 'em are."

"My Mom would agree with you."

"Fine woman, your mom." A small smile curled the ends of his lips. "Sure you've heard enough about how much you look like her but damned if you aren't her spitting image."

"She claims I look and act more like my dad."

"Well." Detective Gray chuckled softly. "I tend to recall the Brannigans are as ornery as the Corbins."

"Uncle Jamie's the most even tempered member of the family."

"Until you rile him." His eyes twinkled with fondness. "Then he's like an Irish Terrier."

"He'd say he's more like an Irish Wolfhound."

"No, that'd be your uncle Hoyt."

"You're right." Sorcha hummed a laugh. "He and dad were a lot alike there."

"Your dad, Ian," Detective Gray said quietly. "He's why I'm here, actually."

"My dad?" A puzzled frown feathered Sorcha's brow. "What about him?"

"Because." Gray watched a delivery man enter Sterling's building through narrowed eyes. "If there's one man Nicholas Endicott fears, it's Ian Corbin."

"But my dad is..."

"Dead." The detective nodded. "I know he is. I was right sorry to hear of his passing." He raked his thick, callused fingers through his more gray than brown hair. "Things might never have gotten this far had he lived."

"This far?" Curious now despite her gut telling her she shouldn't be, Sorcha moved closer to him and dropped her voice. "You know about Endicott's serial killer ring?"

Detective Gray's expression caused a chill to run down her spine. Warned her things were far worse than she or Malcolm imagined them.

"Endicott's running an entire criminal empire, kiddo. One he's operating with the cooperation and knowledge of many in law enforcement, government, and other influential circles."

Sorcha suspected, as had Gil and Malcolm, of Endicott having aligned himself with people in position to further his goals and ambition. The man used money and manipulation to get the power and control he craved.

He also isn't afraid to kill those who threaten him with exposure.

Something Ian Turner and Eve Blanchard both did.

Turner with her dad's help and Eve with her sister's.

"Endicott fears the files my dad gave to Ian Turner."

"He knows Turner left those files to you." Gray let out a pained sigh. "That's why he hired me to follow you and the Whitly kid around. To see if you came up with those files."

Sorcha had to wait for her fury to pass before she could speak. It was difficult to think in logical steps through anger. However justified it was.

"You've been following Malcolm and I?"

"Yes."

Her nails curled into her palms to keep her from planting a fist in his craggy face. Last thing Malcolm needed was her assaulting an officer.

Even if that officer was a corrupt one.

"How long?" She demanded in a low hiss. "How long have you been following us?"

"Since November."

"Nove…" She trailed off as the blood drained from her face. "You took those photos of Malcolm and I. The ones that got delivered to the station house a few weeks ago."

The ones that exposed their private life. Something nobody had a right to do.

"I took them but Endicott delivered them to Robert Harwood."

A chill ran through Sorcha as realization dawned.

"Robert worked for Endicott." Another, more damning question occurred to her. "Did he also influence my meeting him?"

"My guess?" Gray blew out a breath. "Yeah."

"Did he also get Malcolm fired from the FBI?"

Before Gray could reply, Malcolm came hurdling through the front door. Blood covered the front of his jacket and shirt. Darkened his hands.

"Sterling's dead," he panted out. "A man in a delivery uniform shot him."

Behind them, Gray cursed. Long and viciously.

"Endicott," he growled. "He's covering his ass." He reached into his jacket and pulled out his service revolver. "You two get back where you belong and wait for either Arroyo or your uncles to come to you."

"Who are..." Malcolm began but Gray cut him off.

"Go!"

Sorcha grabbed Malcolm's hand and did as the detective ordered.

They were in enough hot water.

They didn't need to drown in it.

A/N: Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!

I just want to send a special thank you to Rookblonkorules for their lovely reviews!