Chapter 3 - The Midnight Trail
The click of the disconnected line hung between Claire and me like a detonator wire.
"He's panicking," Claire said, folding her arms. "David warned us that if Noah suspected anyone was looking at the books, he would accelerate his timeline. What's at Harbor Pointe tomorrow?"
"That project had forty percent of its concrete work sub-contracted out to an outfit named Apex Foundations," I answered, grabbing my ledger notebook from the bottom shelf. "Noah brought them in. He claimed they were thirty percent cheaper than our regular subcontractors. I signed off because we were already bleeding money on materials."
I flipped open my phone and dialed Frank Kowalski, our veteran job superintendent who had worked with my father for twenty-five years. Frank was sixty-two, gruff, and lived in a trailer three miles from the harbor site.
The phone rang four times before Frank answered with a raspy grumble. "Ethan? What the hell is burning at midnight?"
"Frank, forgive me for calling this late," I said. "Are you anywhere near the Harbor Pointe job trailer?"
"I’m in bed, Ethan. But I drove past the gate about an hour ago on my way back from dinner. Why?"
"Was there any activity inside?"
Frank paused, the sound of bedsheets rustling in the background. "Now that you mention it, yeah. Apex had two flatbed haulers parked near the equipment bay. I thought you ordered them to move the heavy cranes out to the southern yard."
My blood ran cold. "I didn't order anything moved."
"Well, somebody did," Frank said, his voice sharpening instantly. "They were loading up the three Cat excavators and the generator banks. Those machines are company property, Ethan. They’re worth over seven hundred grand."
"Frank, listen to me," I commanded, grabbing my jacket off the back of the chair. "Get over there right now. Do not confront them alone. Park your truck across the primary egress gate, lock it, and call the county sheriff. Tell them there is an unauthorized asset removal underway."
"I'm moving right now," Frank said, hanging up.
Claire was already reaching for her coat. "I'm coming with you."
"Claire, it could be dangerous. If Noah is there—"
"I started this investigation, Ethan," she said, looking me dead in the eye with an intensity that brooked no argument. "I'm not sitting in this kitchen waiting for bad news. We are partners in this life, and nobody takes our family down while I'm breathing."
We ran to the truck. As I backed out into the street, my dashboard pinged with an incoming notification. It was the secure drive link from David Sterling. Attached was an urgent text:
Ethan, I just pulled the entity records for Apex Foundations. It isn't a third-party subcontractor. It's a Delaware shell company registered to Rebecca Lane's brother. And the second corporate officer listed on the charter is your father’s estate. Noah has been using your father’s old tax ID number to launder equipment titles across state lines.
May you like
My grip on the steering wheel tightened until my knuckles turned stark white. My brother hadn't just stolen our money. He had systematically turned our father’s name into a criminal enterprise, using the dead to bury the living.
We hit the highway at eighty miles an hour, heading toward the coast where the dark ocean met the industrial skeletons of Harbor Pointe.
