Chapter 21 - The Uncle We Never Talked About
My father almost never spoke about Raymond.
When I was young, I assumed they had simply drifted apart.
They hadn’t.
Raymond Reed had been Dad’s business partner before I went to college.
Together, they operated a small fleet-maintenance garage.
Dad repaired engines.
Raymond handled purchasing and contracts.
Then forty thousand dollars disappeared.
Dad discovered Raymond had been accepting kickbacks from parts suppliers and billing customers for repairs that were never performed.
He forced Raymond out.
The brothers never spoke again.
I hadn’t seen my uncle since I was seventeen.
Lawrence found him in forty minutes.
Or at least found the life he wanted people to see.
Raymond owned a consulting company in Nevada.
He had a house outside Reno.
He paid taxes.
He had no serious criminal record.
But his company had received $4.2 million over twelve years from Granger Advanced Systems.
Thomas.
Clara looked at me.
“That’s not a coincidence.”
“No.”
We searched Dad’s notebook.
Most pages contained mechanical diagrams.
Maintenance schedules.
Notes about Lazarus.
Then Clara noticed several pages had been removed.
“Were they missing before?”
“I don’t know.”
A faded notation remained near the binding.
R.R. KNOWS WHERE ORIGINAL UNIT IS.
Raymond Reed.
My uncle didn’t want the notebook.
He wanted the original Lazarus prototype.
And he thought the notebook contained its location.
Agent Sloan coordinated with Nevada authorities.
Raymond’s house was empty.
Furniture gone.
Computers wiped.
Then Lawrence found a vehicle linked to one of Raymond’s shell companies near Havenport.
My stomach tightened.
The coastal town.
Dad’s diner.
Our old places.
“Why would he go there?”
Clara answered.
“Because your father hid things where memory mattered.”
She was right.
We drove to Havenport.
The diner owner remembered Dad well.
When I showed Raymond’s picture, her expression changed.
“That man was here yesterday.”
“Was he alone?”
“No. Woman came in later.”
“Vanessa?”
I showed her a photograph.
“Yes.”
My heart kicked.
“Was she hurt?”
“Scared. He kept holding her arm.”
“Where did they go?”
“Toward the harbor.”
The old Reed Fleet Garage sat less than two miles away.
I hadn’t visited since childhood.
The building had been abandoned for years.
Its faded sign still hung above the entrance.
REED BROTHERS FLEET SERVICE.
Lawrence called federal backup.
I didn’t wait.
I entered through the side door.
“Marcus,” Lawrence hissed.
“He has Vanessa.”
“He may also have weapons.”
“So do you.”
“That is not reassuring.”
We moved inside.
The garage smelled like rust, damp wood, and old oil.
My childhood rushed back.
Dad laughing.
Raymond yelling from the office.
Me sweeping floors on Saturdays.
A light burned in the rear service bay.
Vanessa sat tied to a chair.
Raymond stood beside her.
He was sixty-three now.
Gray hair.
Heavy face.
Dad’s eyes.
That was the worst part.
“Marcus.”
“Let her go.”
He smiled.
“You always sounded like Elias when you were angry.”
Vanessa’s lip was split, but she was conscious.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Raymond tightened his grip on her shoulder.
“You brought the notebook?”
“Yes.”
I held it up.
“Give it to me.”
“Vanessa first.”
He laughed.
“Still trying to be noble.”
“No. Practical. She doesn’t know anything.”
“She knew enough to carry Preston’s phone.”
“You’ve been following her.”
“I’ve been cleaning up Grant Mercer’s mess.”
That sentence confirmed the hierarchy.
Mercer had not been the architect.
He had been another piece.
“Thomas works for you.”
“Thomas works for money.”
“And Mercer?”
“Worked for ego.”
“Dad?”
Raymond’s smile disappeared.
“Elias worked for principles.”
He said the word like an insult.
“What did you do to him?”
Raymond stared at me.
“I offered him fifty million dollars.”
“For Lazarus?”
“For our future.”
“He refused.”
“He called me a thief.”
“You were.”
His face hardened.
“I was his brother.”
“You stole from him.”
“I built that garage too!”
His voice echoed.
Then he lowered it.
“Give me the notebook.”
I tossed it onto the floor halfway between us.
Raymond shoved Vanessa aside and stepped forward.
Lawrence moved.
Raymond pulled a gun.
“Don’t.”
Everything stopped.
He picked up the notebook.
Flipped through it.
His face changed.
“Where are the pages?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“No.”
He pointed the weapon at Vanessa.
“Then she dies.”
Before I could answer, Vanessa suddenly kicked backward.
The chair struck Raymond’s knees.
His gun swung aside.
Lawrence fired.
The bullet hit Raymond’s shoulder.
He dropped the weapon.
Federal agents rushed in.
Vanessa fell sideways.
I reached her first.
“You okay?”
She nodded, sobbing.
Raymond groaned on the floor.
As agents restrained him, he laughed.
“You still don’t understand.”
I looked down.
“Understand what?”
“The prototype isn’t hidden.”
He smiled through the pain.
“You’ve been driving it for years.”
I froze.
Then I knew.
May you like
Blue Thunder.
Dad’s truck.
