The Most Feared Woman in Prison Threw Her Food on the Floor and Ordered the New Girl to Pick It Up—Then She Whispered “24701,” and the Entire Cafeteria Went Silent!

A storm had rolled over Redhaven, turning the sky purple. Lightning cracked outside while backup power struggled to come online. It was exactly the kind of confusion a person could use to move a van without answering questions.

I could hear the engine revving below. Fitch's voice echoed from the stairwell: "Get it through the gate before the inspection team arrives."

I shouted for Officer Brooks, telling her what I'd heard. At first no one answered. Then the intercom crackled and Harris ordered all vehicle exits secured until power and identification systems were restored.

A metal gate slammed somewhere below us. The engine revved once more, then stopped.

Morgane gripped the bars of her cell. "They've still got women at the warehouse."

"I know."

"Simone's out there. She has asthma. She couldn't work when the dust got bad. They told me that was why she had to go."

"You can say all of that to the investigators."

"I have. I should've said it months ago."

Outside, sirens joined the thunder. A state investigator arrived carrying an order to preserve dispatch records, followed by county detectives who were seeking access to Bell's office. Bell tried to send them away, claiming an internal review was sufficient. They presented the court-authorized search paperwork.

I watched from behind glass as they sealed an evidence bag around a black notebook recovered from an office safe. Bell stood beside the investigator, suddenly looking much smaller without his desk between him and everyone else.

Rae called the next morning and said police had reached the West Industrial property. A security guard there told them the warehouse had been cleared overnight. The parking lot was empty. The doors were locked.