Throughout their investigation, the FBI’s experts had put in long hours of painstaking work to gain access to the encrypted data on Byyle’s computers and phones, which he had safeguarded with complex security measures.

At the same time, the FBI and state police had been negotiating with the attorney for Devlin Foxe, the real estate agent, who, through his online association with the Hydra, had rented the property to him.

Consequently, Foxe faced a list of offences—fraud, tax fraud, aiding and abetting the Hydra. In exchange for mitigation of, or possible immunity from, most of the charges, investigators wanted Foxe’s full cooperation about the secret lives he and Byyle lived on the dark web.

Foxe had no choice.

Heeding his attorney’s advice, Foxe prepared to tell investigators what he knew about Byyle.

CHAPTER 66

New York City, New York

Wyatt wrote an in-depth investigative feature series on Samantha Moore’s case and the capture of the Hydra.

After it ran on the True Signal News site, Chase Lockner had it syndicated. News outlets across the country and around the world picked it up, eventually boosting True Signal’s subscribers by an additional 500,000.

Wherever Wyatt went, colleagues met him with high fives and backslapping. There was talk of a Pulitzer and a possible book. Still, in the wake of the case, Wyatt found himself wrestling with a mix of pride and despair. He was glad to be working again as a reporter, but at the same time he felt empty.

He was happy for Samantha Moore to be getting on with her life after all she’d overcome. He was happy to see McDade get back to her daughter and her life. He didn’t think there was a romantic future with McDade, what with her being a cop and him being a reporter. A solid friendship, yes, but nothing beyond that.

All of it underscored that he was alone.

His wife was gone. His boy was gone. He lived in a house of ghosts.

And nearly two months after Moore’s rescue, it hit him hard one evening when he took Molly to the park near his home in Queens. Tossing her ball in a game of fetch, he stared at his phone. Despite his most recent wave of emails, letters and efforts, he’d failed to advance his search for his son, Danny.

For the first time, Wyatt felt hope slipping, like an overwhelming weight tethered to a rope he could no longer hold.

Molly’s collar clinked, and she panted as she trotted to him with her ball in her mouth.

Wyatt tossed it again, farther out this time.

Then he stared at the video the Italian tourists had taken in Banff, studying the grainy image of the boy’s face, remembering the moments in the fire, feeling Danny’s hand slip from his.

Wyatt shut his eyes.

Maybe that’s not Danny. Maybe he really is gone forever.

“Ray?”