Chapter 13 - The Black Box
Three police cruisers met us at my house.
I had never been so relieved to see flashing lights in my driveway.
The boys stayed inside the truck while officers cleared the property. Melissa sat beside them, holding Lucas’s hand through the open rear window.
Agent Miller arrived ten minutes later.
He walked straight toward me.
“Tell me exactly what the boy said.”
I did.
Miller looked toward the backyard.
“Where’s the shed?”
“Behind the garage.”
“We go together.”
The shed had belonged to my father.
After he died, I kept nearly everything he owned because grief had a strange way of turning ordinary objects into sacred ones.
Old rods.
Rusty reels.
Camping chairs.
A green metal tackle box with a broken latch.
When Miller opened the shed door, dust floated through the beam of his flashlight.
Nobody touched anything until a crime-scene technician photographed the room.
Then I pointed.
“That shelf.”
The green tackle box sat beneath a stack of faded blankets.
Miller put on gloves and carefully opened it.
Inside were hooks, bobbers, sinkers, a pocketknife, and three packets of plastic worms.
Nothing else.
My stomach dropped.
“Lucas said it was here.”
Miller examined the bottom.
“There’s dust disruption.”
“What does that mean?”
“Something rectangular sat here recently.”
Someone had already taken it.
We searched the entire shed.
Nothing.
One detective walked around the exterior and called us outside.
The padlock had not been cut.
The hinges had not been damaged.
But beneath the window frame was a thin scratch near the latch.
Professional entry.
Clean.
Quiet.
Somebody had gotten inside without triggering my basic backyard sensor.
Miller looked toward the house.
“When was the last time you opened this shed?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Anyone else have a key?”
“No.”
Melissa stepped into the yard.
“I did.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Years ago. Before the divorce.”
“That lock was replaced.”
“Not the side gate.”
I stared at her.
She looked ashamed.
“Grant knew where you kept the spare gate key.”
Every old mistake suddenly felt alive again.
“Why would Grant know that?”
“Because I told him.”
I walked away before anger could make me say something useless.
Miller followed.
“Evan.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“He used my ex-wife to learn where I kept keys to the house where my children sleep.”
“And now he’s in prison.”
“His people aren’t.”
Miller lowered his voice.
“If the device Lucas found was the missing archive, then whoever entered that shed believes they have solved their problem.”
“Then why threaten me?”
“Because maybe they opened it and discovered they hadn’t.”
That possibility was worse.
We brought Lucas outside.
Miller crouched to his height.
“I need you to think carefully. The little black box you found. What did it look like?”
Lucas rubbed his eyes.
“Like a phone charger.”
“Any writing?”
“A red sticker.”
“What did it say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you open it?”
“No.”
“Did anybody see you pick it up?”
Lucas shook his head.
Then Owen spoke from behind us.
“I did.”
Everyone looked at him.
“You saw him?”
“I saw Lucas holding something when we came to Dad’s shop that Friday.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I thought it was one of Dad’s parts.”
Miller asked, “Did anyone else see?”
Owen’s forehead tightened.
“There was a man outside.”
“What man?”
“He was sitting in a white SUV.”
A technician nearby stopped moving.
Miller’s voice became very calm.
“Can you describe him?”
“Gray hair.”
Melissa went white.
“The man from my apartment?”
Owen looked at her.
“I don’t know.”
Miller immediately ordered agents to pull traffic-camera footage from the street surrounding the shop.
I took the boys inside.
Lucas was crying now.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
I knelt in front of him.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I lost the box.”
“No. Somebody stole it. That is not the same thing.”
“Are bad people coming?”
I wanted to lie.
Instead, I put both hands on his shoulders.
“There are people making bad choices. But there are also a lot of good people protecting us.”
He hugged me.
Over his shoulder, I saw Melissa standing in the kitchen doorway.
She was crying too.
Later, after the boys were asleep under police protection upstairs, Miller called me into the living room.
He had a photograph on his tablet.
Traffic camera.
White SUV.
Driver visible through the windshield.
Gray hair.
Melissa stared at the image for less than a second.
Then she whispered a name.
“Hal Mercer.”
Miller’s face changed.
“You know him?”
“He was Grant’s chief financial officer.”
I remembered the Whitmore trial.
Mercer had testified for the prosecution.
He had claimed Grant kept him in the dark.
Miller swore under his breath.
“Mercer received immunity for cooperation.”
Melissa shook her head slowly.
“He wasn’t afraid of Grant.”
“Then what was he afraid of?”
May you like
She looked at me.
“Being discovered as the man who actually designed the entire system.”
