Chapter 11 - The Warehouse
I did not go alone.
I considered it for about thirty seconds.
Then training beat curiosity.
Holt took a four-agent team.
Keene stayed with Dad.
Marjorie was detained for questioning.
At 2:17 in the morning, we pulled onto an old service road five miles outside town.
The warehouse had been abandoned for at least fifteen years.
Broken windows.
Rusted roof.
Tall weeds.
No lights.
Holt touched my arm.
“You stay behind me.”
“I’m not armed.”
“That wasn’t my concern.”
We entered through a side door.
The smell hit first.
Dust.
Oil.
Mold.
Then fresh cigarette smoke.
Someone had been there recently.
Flashlights moved across old shelving.
Empty crates.
Rotting office furniture.
One agent called from the back.
“Got something.”
A metal filing cabinet sat against the wall.
Brand new padlock.
Holt’s team cut it.
Inside were folders.
Hundreds.
Invoices.
Contracts.
Copies of canceled checks.
Military procurement documents dating back more than twenty years.
My mother’s name appeared on a yellow memo.
ELLEN REED.
My hands went cold.
I pulled it out.
The memo was addressed to her supervisor.
It listed six suspicious vendors.
Three were linked to Victor Hale.
The last paragraph read:
I believe supporting records are being deliberately destroyed. If these discrepancies are intentional, the exposure may exceed $4 million.
I read it twice.
Holt took a photograph.
“This is evidence.”
“She found him.”
“It appears so.”
“Before she died.”
“Yes.”
A sound came from upstairs.
Footsteps.
Every agent froze.
Holt raised one fist.
We moved toward the staircase.
A figure ran across the second floor.
“Federal agents!”
The person bolted.
Two agents chased him.
A metal door slammed.
I saw movement near the far stairs and followed before Holt could stop me.
The man jumped the last three steps.
Gray hoodie.
Jeans.
About thirty.
Not Victor.
He turned.
I recognized him.
Evan Price.
My lieutenant.
The man who had called me about the sedatives.
I stopped.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
His eyes widened.
“Commander?”
Holt came behind me with her weapon raised.
“Hands!”
Price lifted both hands.
“Don’t shoot.”
I stared at him.
“Are you the one texting me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t trust the chain.”
“What chain?”
“The investigation.”
Holt stepped closer.
“Explain.”
Price swallowed.
“I found the foundation link two weeks ago. Then somebody accessed my search history from an admin account.”
Keene’s warning came back to me.
We think the leak may be inside mine too.
Price continued.
“I started copying everything.”
“You should have reported it.”
“To who?”
“To me.”
“You were on leave.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It mattered when your father’s name appeared.”
I stared at him.
“You knew about Marjorie.”
“Yes.”
“The pills?”
“Yes.”
“My mother?”
His face changed.
“Not until yesterday.”
“Why send me here?”
“Because somebody was cleaning the records out.”
“Who?”
Before he could answer, headlights swept across the broken windows.
Price looked toward the front.
“No.”
An engine roared.
A vehicle smashed through the warehouse doors.
Agents shouted.
I saw the driver.
May you like
Dale Mercer.
And beside him sat Victor Hale.
