Chapter 6 - INSIDE MY WALLFederal agents reached my house first.
No forced entry.
That wasn't comforting.
A professional doesn't always break a lock.
The surveillance photograph sent to Lily had shown the house from outside at 7:51 p.m.
But whoever left the old courthouse picture might have entered long before that.
Ortiz wouldn't let Lily go inside.
She didn't want me inside either.
I convinced her because I knew what had changed.
At least, I thought I did.
My wife, Sarah, had decorated that house.
After she died, I altered almost nothing.
Not because I lived in a shrine.
Because rebuilding a home after losing the person who made it a home feels strangely disloyal.
The same framed photos hung in the hallway.
The same old piano sat beneath the stairs.
The same scratches from Lily's childhood marked the kitchen doorframe.
Agents photographed everything before we touched it.
The wooden box Daniel gave me after Sarah's funeral sat exactly where I remembered.
Attic.
Back shelf.
Inside were letters.
Photographs.
Sarah's old nursing badge.
A silver bracelet.
Nothing else.
Ortiz looked disappointed.
I wasn't.
Daniel never expected us to find anything in the box.
His clue had to mean something else.
Twelve years ago.
Sarah's funeral.
My house.
What had Daniel done that day?
I walked downstairs mentally replaying it.
People came and went.
Neighbors brought food.
Daniel handled logistics because I could barely function.
He drove Lily, who was seven, home from the cemetery.
He helped put coats upstairs.
He fixed—
I stopped.
“The wall.”
Ortiz turned.
“What?”
“Daniel repaired a hole.”
“What hole?”
“Lily punched one in the hallway.”
From the stairs, Lily protested, “I was seven.”
“You threw a baseball indoors.”
“You told me Mom would've thought it was funny.”
“She would've.”
Ortiz pointed.
“Focus.”
I went to the upstairs hallway.
A section of drywall near the linen closet had been patched after Sarah's funeral.
Daniel fixed it himself.
That wall had never been opened again.
An agent used a scanner.
Something metallic sat between the studs.
They cut carefully.
Inside was a small tin.
My hands went cold.
Daniel had hidden something in my wall twelve years earlier.
But the conspiracy, according to Eric, began six years ago.
Ortiz opened the tin.
A key.
A folded note.
And a flash drive.
The note was from Daniel.
Nate,
If you're reading this, I finally had to use the safest place I know.
Forgive me for choosing your home without asking.
The original tin was empty when I put it here after Sarah's funeral. You joked once that nobody would ever repair my ugly patchwork. You were right.
I reopened it six months ago.
I hope you never have reason to find this.
D.
Six months.
That made sense.
Daniel had secretly returned to my house and placed evidence inside the old hiding place.
I felt anger before gratitude.
He had put my family at risk.
Again.
Ortiz plugged the flash drive into a secure forensic system.
One video.
Daniel sat alone in his office.
Recorded six months earlier.
“If this is being watched, then either I'm dead, I'm compromised, or Nathan Mercer has finally forgiven my drywall skills.”
Even Ortiz smiled.
Daniel continued.
“Nate, I'm sorry.”
His expression changed.
“I need to say this before anything else. I failed Martin Vale. I failed his widow. I failed my department. I failed the oath I took. Hodge began with favors. I told myself the system was dirty everywhere. I told myself nobody was being harmed. By the time someone died, I was already guilty enough to be afraid of telling the truth.”
He looked away from the camera.
“That fear cost another man his life.”
My throat tightened.
“I don't expect forgiveness. I only hope the evidence gives the people I failed what I refused to give them when it mattered.”
Then Daniel described the master ledger.
Eric had split its location.
B-19 identified a locker row.
Daniel possessed the key and facility identifier.
The key inside the tin carried an engraved number.
274.
Daniel said:
“B-19, key 274. Union Station storage annex.”
Ortiz immediately sent a team.
Daniel continued.
“If Hodge learns Eric created a master ledger, he will burn everything to get it. Do not let local law enforcement secure it. Go federal.”
Rebecca muttered, “At least he learned eventually.”
Then Daniel gave us another name.
Judge Wallace Trent.
A county circuit judge.
According to Daniel, Trent wasn't merely taking bribes.
He was the financial architect.
Hodge ran enforcement.
Cole handled intimidation.
Trent protected warrants, property seizures, and civil forfeiture cases.
The criminal network wasn't a dirty sheriff's operation.
It was larger.
And Daniel had discovered another terrifying fact.
“Hodge is planning to remove Trent.”
Ortiz leaned closer.
Daniel continued.
“Trent believes Hodge is loyal. He's wrong. Hodge has been collecting evidence against everybody so he can take control of the money. If Trent disappears, Hodge will blame Eric.”
The recording ended.
Seconds later, Ortiz received confirmation.
The Union Station locker existed.
B-19.
Key 274 fit.
Agents opened it under video.
Inside were ledgers, encrypted drives, bank statements, recordings, and copies of property documents.
Enough evidence to dismantle the operation.
But Daniel was still missing.
Then Hodge called me directly.
No voice distortion.
“Nice wall.”
I looked toward the cut drywall.
“You've been inside my house.”
“Several times.”
Lily's face hardened.
I walked into another room so she wouldn't hear.
“What do you want now?”
“You found Daniel's message.”
“How would you know?”
“Because Daniel always thought he was smarter than me.”
“Apparently he was.”
Hodge laughed.
“You think a ledger scares me?”
“It should.”
“Evidence only matters if witnesses survive long enough to explain it.”
There it was.
The part men like Hodge never understand.
Threats work until everyone stops being isolated.
He still believed we were alone.
He didn't know Eric was alive.
He didn't know Bell had surrendered.
He didn't know federal agents had the locker.
So I let him talk.
“Where's Daniel?”
“Alive.”
“For how long?”
“That depends on you.”
“You don't need the card anymore.”
“No.”
“What do you need?”
“You.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Daniel won't give me one name.”
“What name?”
“The federal contact he was working with.”
“You think I know?”
“I think Daniel trusted you more than he trusted anyone.”
“You kidnapped the wrong man.”
“Come to the old Carson grain elevator.”
“Alone?”
“Obviously.”
“Daniel there?”
“Yes.”
“Prove it.”
A pause.
Then Daniel came on.
“Nate?”
“I’m here.”
“Don't come.”
Hodge struck him.
Daniel groaned.
“I'll come,” I said.
Ortiz shook her head violently.
Hodge replied, “Forty minutes.”
The call ended.
“You are not going alone,” Ortiz said.
“I know.”
“You're not going at all.”
“That'll spook him.”
“We have enough evidence.”
“For charges. Not enough to keep Daniel alive.”
“Nathan, hostage rescue doesn't involve sending the hostage taker exactly what he requests.”
“I didn't say I'd actually enter alone.”
Ortiz studied me.
Rebecca said, “I hate that I know that expression.”
“What expression?”
“The one where he already has an idea.”
Ortiz looked at me.
“What idea?”
“Hodge thinks he needs me because he believes Daniel gave me a federal name.”
“So?”
“So we give him one.”
Ortiz's eyes narrowed.
“A false identity?”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“We give him yours.”
Rebecca said, “Nathan.”
“Hodge won't recognize her face. He's seen names on public corruption cases. Let him believe Ortiz is Daniel's hidden federal contact.”
Ortiz thought.
“If he searches quickly, he'll verify I exist.”
“Exactly.”
“And then?”
“You trace whoever he contacts.”
That was the key.
Hodge wasn't acting alone.
Even now, someone was feeding him information.
Someone knew when Daniel's vehicle was found.
Someone knew about hotel movements.
Someone had access to systems.
Hodge would verify Ortiz through his network.
If we gave him a breadcrumb, he might expose the last person protecting him.
Ortiz called her supervisors.
The plan became larger and much more professional than my version.
At 11:32 p.m., I drove toward the Carson grain elevator wearing a concealed transmitter.
Federal tactical teams approached from three directions.
State police shut down roads discreetly.
Ortiz monitored from a mobile command vehicle.
My phone rang.
Hodge.
“Who is Daniel's contact?”
“Lena Ortiz.”
Silence.
“FBI?”
“You already know that or you wouldn't have asked.”
He hung up.
Ortiz's team monitored network traffic.
Three minutes passed.
Then five.
Then one analyst raised his voice.
“Got activity.”
A secure county terminal had queried Ortiz's federal identity.
The terminal wasn't at the sheriff's office.
It was inside Judge Wallace Trent's courthouse chambers.
Trent was helping Hodge.
Except another transmission followed.
A message from Trent's device to an unknown number.
Only six words.
HODGE KNOWS TOO MUCH. END IT.
Ortiz looked at me.
Hodge thought Trent was his ally.
Daniel had warned that Hodge planned to remove Trent.
But Trent was planning the exact same thing.
May you like
The conspiracy was collapsing inward.
And I was driving directly into the middle of it.
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