Chapter 21 - The Night the Gates Opened
The FBI evacuated us.
I hated leaving the house.
Reese hated it more.
“This is our home,” she said as we entered the armored vehicle.
“I know.”
“You said we weren’t giving them the house.”
“We aren’t.”
“Feels like it.”
I took her hand.
“Leaving for one night is not surrender. It’s strategy.”
She considered that.
“Grandpa would say that?”
“Grandpa would probably use twelve engineering metaphors first.”
That earned a smile.
We were moved to a secure federal property outside the city.
Arthur slept almost immediately.
Reese did not.
Neither did I.
The countdown reached six hours.
Nothing happened.
Four hours.
Nothing.
Two.
Then Grayson received a call.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He muted the phone.
“Someone breached Mercer Tower.”
My stomach tightened.
“The office?”
“Archive floor.”
“What’s there?”
Danielle answered.
“Original patent records.”
Of course.
The timer had been a distraction.
Locke wanted us watching the house.
Federal agents rushed to Mercer Tower.
Security footage showed two intruders entering through a service corridor using credentials belonging to an outsourced maintenance vendor.
One was arrested.
The other escaped.
The captured man refused to speak.
At ninety minutes remaining, another alarm triggered.
This time at the city engineering archive.
A fire suppression system activated even though there was no fire.
Thousands of gallons of water flooded basement storage.
“They’re destroying paper records,” Danielle said.
“Copies exist.”
“Maybe they’re looking for something.”
The timer reached thirty minutes.
Then Grayson suddenly stood.
“The house.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“The tower and archive are secondary targets.”
“Why?”
“To stretch resources.”
My blood went cold.
Security at our home had been reduced after the evacuation because agents assumed nobody would target an empty property.
But the house was not empty.
My father’s original personal office remained there.
We had never fully searched it because Preston had remodeled most of the room years earlier.
“Send people now.”
Agents raced back.
The timer reached twelve minutes.
A perimeter camera detected movement behind the property.
Someone had crossed through the wooded section bordering the old service road.
Not toward the main house.
Toward the detached carriage building.
The original Mercer archive boxes had recently been moved there.
The intruder entered.
Police surrounded the building.
The timer reached zero.
Nothing exploded.
No computer systems failed.
No new message appeared.
Instead, the carriage-house door opened.
A man ran.
He made it less than forty yards.
Police tackled him.
His identity shocked everyone.
Martin Cress.
The seventy-three-year-old former city procurement official who had supposedly been arrested days earlier.
“How is that possible?” I asked.
Grayson’s voice turned hard.
“He made bail yesterday.”
“Who paid it?”
“An anonymous surety company.”
“Northstar.”
“Probably.”
Inside Cress’s backpack were old Callaway files.
Photographs.
A portable scanner.
And one sealed envelope addressed to me.
I opened it after federal technicians cleared it.
The handwriting belonged to Edmund.
Nora,
If this has been found, then Locke knows I kept what Arthur gave me.
Meet me before he does.
There was an address in Vermont.
Edmund’s cabin.
I immediately called Miriam.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Grayson contacted Vermont State Police.
They reached the cabin forty minutes later.
Empty.
No Edmund.
No Miriam.
No signs of struggle.
Their vehicle was gone.
Then my phone rang.
Miriam.
“Nora.”
She was crying.
“Where are you?”
“Driving.”
“With Edmund?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because Edmund finally told me the truth.”
My body went still.
“What truth?”
“Arthur came to our house the night before his accident.”
I gripped the phone.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“He gave Edmund something.”
“What?”
“A recording.”
My heart hammered.
“A recording of what?”
“Locke threatening him.”
I closed my eyes.
“Where is it?”
“Edmund kept it.”
“For seventeen years?”
“He said he was afraid releasing it would destroy the company and implicate him in the corruption.”
Anger surged through me.
“He protected his company while my father was buried.”
“I know.”
“No, Miriam. You don’t.”
She sobbed.
“Nora, Locke knows Edmund has it.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Chicago.”
“Why?”
“Edmund wants to give it to you.”
“Then go to the FBI.”
“He doesn’t trust anyone.”
“Tell him I don’t care what he trusts.”
I heard Edmund’s voice in the background.
Then Miriam whispered, “There’s something else.”
“What?”
“The recording doesn’t only contain Locke.”
My breath caught.
“Who else?”
She hesitated.
“Preston.”
“That’s impossible. Preston was too young.”
“Not Preston.”
Her voice broke.
“Julian.”
The road noise continued behind her.
“Julian was there the night Locke threatened your father.”
May you like
The Callaway family had known far more than they had ever admitted.
And Edmund was finally driving toward me with the last piece of the truth.
