Chapter 16 - The Red Thermos
Grant Whitmore’s former attorney was named Charles Redding.
I remembered him from the courthouse.
Tall.
Silver tie.
Expensive glasses.
The kind of man who never appeared rushed because other people were paid to panic for him.
He had defended Grant during the earliest phase of the federal investigation before abruptly withdrawing from the case.
Now he was standing outside my shop at seven fifteen in the evening.
Tyler had already locked the doors.
“Don’t let him inside,” I said.
“He says he wants to talk.”
“Tell him to call my attorney.”
“He says it concerns your children.”
That was enough to make every nerve in my body burn.
Miller ordered me to remain at home until agents arrived.
I ignored him.
Sarah threatened to physically take my truck keys.
I took the spare set.
By the time I reached the shop, two unmarked federal vehicles were parked down the block.
Redding stood beneath the light near the entrance.
He looked annoyed rather than dangerous.
Agent Miller met me near the sidewalk.
“Let me speak first.”
“I can behave.”
“I have seen your version of behaving.”
We approached.
Redding lifted both hands.
“I’m unarmed.”
Miller identified himself.
Redding sighed.
“Agent Miller. I should have known.”
“You should have contacted federal investigators.”
“I tried.”
“No, you contacted Mr. Vance’s employee and mentioned his children.”
Redding’s expression tightened.
“That was poorly phrased.”
“You think?”
He looked at me.
“Mr. Vance, I believe Hal Mercer intends to kill you.”
No dramatic music.
No warning.
Just one sentence under a flickering parking-lot light.
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because Mercer believes you possess evidence capable of destroying the immunity agreement that kept him out of prison.”
Miller stepped closer.
“What evidence?”
Redding glanced around.
“Not here.”
We moved inside under surveillance.
Tyler left immediately.
I locked the door.
Redding sat at the counter.
“Three years before Whitmore Development came under investigation, Grant asked me to establish several corporate entities. Perfectly legal on the surface.”
“Shell companies,” Miller said.
“Yes.”
“Mercer controlled them?”
“Mercer created the financial architecture. Grant supplied political relationships and capital.”
“Why didn’t you tell prosecutors?”
Redding removed his glasses.
“Attorney-client privilege covered some communications. Others raised exposure for me.”
Sarah laughed coldly.
“So you protected yourself.”
“Yes.”
At least he admitted it.
Redding continued.
“After Grant’s arrest, Mercer approached me. He wanted to know whether I had retained copies of certain documents. I told him no.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
Miller’s eyes narrowed.
“Where?”
“Safe deposit box.”
“Why are you here instead of surrendering them?”
“I attempted to contact your office yesterday. Before I could arrange a meeting, someone broke into my home.”
My skin prickled.
“Mercer?”
“I cannot prove it.”
“What does this have to do with my children?”
Redding looked at me.
“Mercer told Grant about a secondary encrypted archive years ago. Grant referred to it as his insurance policy. If Mercer ever betrayed him, Grant intended to expose everyone.”
“The black box,” I said.
Redding nodded.
“Probably.”
I looked toward the waiting room cabinet.
Behind the glass sat old photographs, my father’s wrench set, a faded racing trophy, and his dented red thermos.
Miller followed my gaze.
“What?”
I walked toward it.
Everyone moved with me.
The thermos looked exactly as it had for years.
Scratched.
Paint worn away near the bottom.
I unlocked the cabinet.
Miller stopped me.
“Gloves.”
A technician photographed everything before lifting the thermos out.
The lid squeaked when opened.
Inside was a folded paper towel.
Then a small black device slid onto the table.
Red sticker.
Lucas had remembered correctly.
Nobody spoke.
Miller stared at it like a detective looking at a loaded gun.
“That may be the archive.”
Redding took one step backward.
“Then you need to move your family tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because Mercer will eventually learn you still have it.”
“He thinks it was stolen from the shed.”
“Mercer does not trust assumptions. He will keep searching.”
Miller bagged the device.
“Not anymore.”
His phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed almost immediately.
“What address?”
He turned away, listening.
“Lock it down. Nobody enters until we arrive.”
He ended the call.
Sarah looked at him.
“What happened?”
Miller looked at Redding.
“Your house is on fire.”
Redding went pale.
Miller continued.
“Neighbor reported an explosion five minutes ago.”
The shop felt suddenly cold.
Redding sat down.
“My wife.”
“Where is she?”
“Visiting her sister in Vermont.”
Miller nodded.
“Good.”
Then his eyes moved toward me.
“Mercer just escalated from intimidation to destruction of evidence.”
I looked toward the stairs leading to the apartment where my sons sometimes did homework.
“Then arrest him.”
“We need to find him first.”
Redding whispered, “He’ll run.”
Miller shook his head.
“No.”
“How can you know?”
“Because men who are running don’t set fires to control evidence.”
May you like
He looked at the black device.
“They stay close enough to finish the job.”
