Chapter 8 - THE MAN WHO OWNED THE POLICE
They held me for three hours.
No charges.
No lawyer.
Just questions.
Where had I been?
Why was I carrying confidential payroll records?
Why had I threatened Victor Hale?
Why had I broken into private property?
Every question told me the same thing.
Victor had gotten ahead of me.
June sat in another room.
I could hear her arguing through the wall.
“I want my kids!”
A detective said, “We’re working on it.”
“No, you’re not!”
Finally, a gray-haired man entered my interrogation room.
Detective Paul Brennan.
I knew him.
Everybody in Chicago business knew Brennan.
He had investigated two Blackwell projects and somehow found nothing.
He shut the door.
“Bad morning, Daniel.”
“Where are June Carter’s children?”
“We’re looking.”
“You’re wasting time.”
“We’re doing our jobs.”
“Who pays you?”
His smile faded.
“Careful.”
“Victor or Raymond?”
Brennan leaned forward.
“You think being rich means you understand how everything works.”
“No. I used to.”
“That’s your problem.”
He lowered his voice.
“You built a company that pays people to solve problems.”
“Yes.”
“Then you act surprised when those people solve problems.”
“Children were kidnapped.”
“Allegedly.”
I stood.
He stood too.
“You want to sit down.”
“Or what?”
“Or I charge you.”
“With what?”
He smiled.
“That’s the nice thing about men like you. There’s always something.”
The door opened.
Aaron walked in with an attorney.
Brennan’s expression changed.
“You can go.”
I stared at him.
“That fast?”
“Enjoy your morning.”
Outside, Aaron whispered, “They took the box?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Evelyn was smarter than you.”
“Everybody keeps reminding me.”
“The ledger in the box wasn’t the original.”
I stared.
“How do you know?”
“Because I read the metadata on one of the drives before police arrived. She made duplicates.”
June came out of the next room.
“Where are my kids?”
Aaron’s smile vanished.
“No update.”
She looked ready to hit somebody.
I said, “Tomas gave us four hours. We have maybe ninety minutes.”
Aaron pulled out his laptop.
“I tracked the call.”
“You what?”
“Your burner was routing through my security app.”
I stared at him.
“You installed spyware on my phone?”
“Protection.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Be angry later.”
He opened a map.
“The call bounced, but one signal stayed consistent. An industrial property south of Joliet.”
“Owned by?”
Aaron typed.
Then looked at me.
“Northstar.”
We left immediately.
Halfway there, my uncle called.
Raymond.
I answered.
“Daniel.”
“Uncle.”
“You are making a mess.”
“Children were kidnapped.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Victor told you?”
“Victor is trying to keep this company alive while you run around playing detective.”
“My wife knew about Northstar.”
Silence.
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“She wrote your name.”
Raymond sighed.
Not shocked.
Tired.
That scared me.
“Evelyn was emotional.”
“She was right.”
“You don’t understand what she found.”
“Then explain it.”
“Not over the phone.”
“Where?”
“My office.”
“I’m busy.”
“Daniel.”
His voice became the one he used when I was twenty-one and stupid.
“Some doors don’t open halfway.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if you push this, you don’t get to choose what comes out.”
“I’m done letting other men choose for me.”
I hung up.
June looked at me.
“He knows.”
“Yes.”
“About my kids?”
“I don’t know.”
“You better hope not.”
I didn’t blame her.
We reached the Northstar property.
A warehouse behind chain-link fencing.
No signs.
No staff.
Aaron stayed in the car.
June started to follow me.
“No.”
She glared.
“They’re my children.”
“That’s why you stay here.”
“Not happening.”
“June—”
“My daughter is eight. My son is five. You think I’m waiting in a car?”
She walked past me.
For the second time that day, I realized ordering June Carter around was a waste of breath.
We entered through a side door.
Dark.
Quiet.
Then we heard it.
A child crying.
June whispered, “Micah.”
She ran.
“June!”
Too late.
Lights snapped on.
Tomas stepped from behind a forklift.
Gun in hand.
Two men appeared beside him.
And behind them sat Lila and Micah, tied to chairs.
Alive.
June moved toward them.
Tomas raised the gun.
“Stop.”
She froze.
He looked at me.
“Where’s the ledger?”
“The police have it.”
He smiled.
“No, they have the fake.”
My blood turned cold.
Tomas nodded toward the shadows.
“Mr. Hale told us Mrs. Blackwell always made copies.”
Then another man stepped into the light.
I expected Victor.
May you like
It wasn’t him.
It was my uncle Raymond.
