Chapter 7 - The PhotographThe photograph looked undeniable.
That was precisely why Marcus Hill didn’t trust it.
“Where did it come from?” he asked.
“Cal.”
“That alone makes it suspect.”
Daniel stood on the opposite side of the hotel room, arms crossed.
I had called him back.
He almost didn’t come.
Now he stared at the image on my phone.
“That’s me.”
“You recognize the place?”
“No.”
“Martin?”
“I swear to you, Ethan, I don’t remember ever meeting him.”
The picture showed Daniel in a suit outside what looked like a conference center.
Martin stood three feet away.
Neither was looking at the other.
Hill enlarged the background.
A banner was partially visible.
NORTHEAST FREIGHT LEADERS SUMMIT — 2020.
Daniel exhaled.
“I attended that.”
“So did half the logistics industry,” I said.
“Exactly.”
Hill nodded.
“This proves you were physically near Vale. Nothing more.”
The more important problem was my parents.
Cal claimed he had them.
But when investigators checked the apartment, they found Dad and Mom gone, the nurse unconscious from what appeared to be a blow to the head, and a service door forced open.
Cal had known where they were.
That meant someone inside my company had known.
Only four employees knew about the apartment.
Daniel.
My regional director.
My executive assistant.
And the building’s facility manager.
Daniel paced.
“I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Neither did I.”
Hill said, “We’re checking phone records.”
“What about the warehouse?” I asked.
“Teams are approaching it.”
“No.”
Hill looked at me.
“No?”
“If Cal sees police, he moves them.”
“We don’t send civilians into hostage situations.”
“They asked for me.”
“They asked for the evidence.”
“Which means I’m useful alive.”
“For the moment.”
I hated how calmly he said it.
Eventually we settled on a plan.
Not because Hill liked it.
Because there were few good options.
They created a duplicate box containing harmless paperwork and tracking equipment.
I drove to the old warehouse.
Alone, visibly.
Federal agents remained farther back.
The building had once been the center of my life.
Walker Freight began there with two loading docks and a roof that leaked whenever it rained.
Now the windows were boarded.
The sign had faded to pale blue.
I carried the box inside.
“Cal?”
My voice echoed.
A light turned on near the far wall.
Cal stepped from behind an office partition.
“Put it down.”
“Where are my parents?”
“Box first.”
“No.”
He smiled.
“You’re like your father.”
“That supposed to insult me?”
“No. He’s stubborn too.”
“Show me they’re alive.”
He held up a phone.
Video appeared.
Mom and Dad were sitting in what looked like a small room.
Dad had his arm around Mom.
A newspaper lay beside them.
Today’s date.
Alive.
I swallowed my fear.
“Now let them go.”
Cal laughed.
“You’re not in charge.”
“Neither are you.”
His smile disappeared.
I put the box on a pallet.
“Tell Martin it’s here.”
“Martin isn’t running this anymore.”
That surprised me.
“Then who is?”
Cal looked behind me.
“Ask her.”
Footsteps sounded.
I turned.
Rebecca walked out of the darkness.
For a second, I genuinely wondered whether I had finally lost my mind.
“You’re in jail.”
“Was.”
“How?”
“My attorney got the charges reduced enough for bail.”
I stepped toward her.
“What are you doing here?”
“Trying to finish this.”
“Finish what?”
She looked at Cal.
“Give me your phone.”
He handed it over.
Rebecca showed me a banking application.
Transfers were queued.
Millions.
From shell companies into offshore accounts.
“I can undo part of this.”
“What does that have to do with Mom and Dad?”
“Everything.”
She took a breath.
“Cal took them because he wants Martin’s money.”
I stared at Cal.
“So this is a robbery?”
He shrugged.
“Call it severance.”
Rebecca continued.
“Martin owes him.”
“And you?”
“I promised to help.”
“You’re helping the man who locked our parents underground?”
Cal’s jaw tightened.
“That wasn’t my decision.”
“You put the lock on.”
His eyes dropped.
That was answer enough.
I turned back to Rebecca.
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“No. For the first time in three years, I’m thinking clearly.”
“Then tell me where our parents are.”
“I will.”
“Now.”
“First we need the real box.”
I almost laughed.
“There is no real box here.”
Cal’s face changed.
He opened the duplicate.
Pulled out the documents.
Flipped through them.
His expression darkened.
“You brought a fake.”
“Yes.”
He moved toward me.
Rebecca blocked him.
“Don’t.”
“You said he’d cooperate.”
“I said he’d come.”
Cal grabbed her arm.
I stepped forward.
“Take your hand off her.”
He looked at me.
Then released her.
Rebecca rubbed her wrist.
Something about that gesture brought back an image of her at twelve years old after falling from a bicycle.
She’d scraped both palms.
I had carried her home.
Whatever she had become, she was still that girl somewhere underneath.
“Rebecca,” I said, “help me get Mom and Dad out.”
Her eyes filled.
“I’m trying.”
“No. You’re still making deals with bad people because you think one more deal will fix the last one.”
She looked away.
“That’s what Dad did.”
“Yes.”
I hadn’t meant to say it.
But it was true.
Dad borrowed to save me.
Then hid the debt.
Rebecca borrowed to save him.
Then hid her mistakes.
Every secret created another.
Every lie demanded a larger one.
I stepped closer.
“Stop.”
Her lips trembled.
“You don’t understand what happens if I stop.”
“Then tell me.”
She looked at Cal.
He shook his head.
Rebecca whispered, “Martin has a file.”
“What file?”
“On all of us.”
Cal cursed.
She kept going.
“Bank records. Faked documents. Emails altered to make us look involved. Enough to implicate Dad, me, Daniel, and maybe you.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
“Where is it?”
“Martin keeps everything on a private server.”
“Where?”
She looked at me.
“You already own the building.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“The server is inside one of Walker Freight’s facilities.”
Before I could ask which one, a gunshot-like crack sounded outside.
Not a firearm.
A transformer.
The warehouse went black.
Cal shouted.
Emergency lights flickered on.
Then someone grabbed me from behind.
I elbowed backward.
Missed.
A cloth came over my face.
I held my breath and fought.
Rebecca screamed my name.
I heard Cal cursing.
Then a voice beside my ear.
Soft.
Familiar.
“Sorry, Ethan.”
I knew that voice.
My knees weakened.
The last face I saw before darkness took me belonged to someone I had trusted every working day for nine years.
May you like
My executive assistant.
Laura Chen.
