Chapter 21 - The Black Cadillac
We reached the yard in twelve minutes.
The front gate hung crooked from one hinge.
A black Cadillac sat sideways beside the dispatch building with its engine running and the driver’s door open.
For one terrible second, I assumed Mercer had come for revenge.
Then I saw blood on the steering wheel.
“Everybody stay back!”
Marcus Bell was behind us.
He drew his weapon and approached the Cadillac with two deputies.
Empty.
No driver.
A trail of blood droplets led toward Bay Two.
I ran after Bell.
Inside, we found Glen Mercer sitting against a tool cabinet.
His expensive suit was torn.
His left eyebrow was split.
Both hands were raised.
“Don’t shoot.”
Bell stared at him.
“What happened?”
“Lawson.”
That answer shocked everyone.
Mercer started laughing.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the man was unraveling.
“Wade decided I’d blame him for everything.”
“Did you?”
Bell asked.
Mercer ignored him.
“He came to my house after I bonded out.”
“What did Lawson want?”
“Money.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
“Why?”
“He said he had copies.”
“Copies of what?”
Mercer closed his eyes.
“Everything.”
Bell crouched.
“Glen, listen carefully. Where is Wade Lawson?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you come here?”
Mercer looked at me.
“Because he hates Reed more than me.”
I laughed once.
“You set my warehouse on fire and suddenly this is my problem?”
“I didn’t order the fire.”
“The brake line?”
Mercer said nothing.
Bell noticed.
“So you ordered the truck sabotage.”
“I want an attorney.”
“There he is,” I said. “Knew the real Glen Mercer was still in there.”
Paramedics examined him.
His injuries were superficial.
Lawson apparently struck him with a handgun, stole documents from a home safe, and demanded access codes to River Crown accounts.
Mercer refused.
Lawson fled.
Then Mercer drove to the one place protected by cameras, employees, and police attention.
My business.
“You thought we’d protect you,” I said.
Mercer sat on the ambulance bumper.
“I thought you wouldn’t let him kill me.”
That was probably true.
I hated him.
I still would not stand by while somebody murdered him.
That difference mattered.
Richard approached.
Mercer looked up.
“You.”
Dad crossed his arms.
“You look worse without the fancy coat.”
Mercer laughed bitterly.
“You think your family won?”
“No.”
Richard’s answer surprised him.
“I think my family finally stopped pretending winning meant somebody else had to lose.”
Mercer looked away.
The search for Lawson expanded statewide.
His photograph appeared on local television.
Police recovered his abandoned pickup outside Kokomo.
Inside were clothing, ammunition, three phones, and a notebook listing names.
Mine.
Richard’s.
Harper’s.
Cynthia Hale’s.
Daniel Cross’s.
Glen Mercer’s.
The notebook turned a fraud case into a threat assessment.
Bell assigned patrols near our properties.
Adam took Milo to stay temporarily with relatives.
Harper refused to hide.
“You’re absolutely hiding,” I told her.
“I have work.”
“You have a child.”
“Adam has Milo.”
“And you’re going with them.”
“I’m not running.”
“This isn’t bravery.”
She glared.
“What is it?”
“Being smart enough not to make yourself an easy target.”
Richard sided with me.
That irritated her even more.
But she went.
That evening, I stayed at Reed Recovery with Leon and two deputies.
Around eleven, a tow request came through from a county sheriff’s office.
Abandoned luxury SUV.
Registered owner unknown.
Normally Tyler would handle it.
Given everything happening, I almost declined.
Then dispatch read the location.
The SUV had been found less than two miles from Lawson’s abandoned pickup.
Bell told us to recover it under police supervision.
At midnight, I winched a dark blue Escalade onto my flatbed.
The vehicle had no plates.
The VIN plate had been covered.
Inside, officers found almost nothing.
No wallet.
No weapon.
No phone.
At the yard, we performed a recorded inventory.
Leon opened the rear cargo compartment.
Empty.
Then he noticed the plastic floor panel sat unevenly.
He lifted it.
Beneath the spare-tire cover was a black waterproof case.
Bell opened it.
Inside were dozens of folders.
Bank statements.
Property records.
Photographs.
Copies of driver’s licenses.
Social Security numbers.
Loan documents.
And a small silver laptop.
Then I saw one file with my name.
NOLAN REED.
Inside were photographs of my house.
My trucks.
My employees.
My mother.
My father.
Harper.
Milo.
May you like
On the final page, Wade Lawson had written one sentence.
IF MERCER FALLS, EVERYBODY PAYS.
