Chapter 6 - Fire in the Walls
The fire started on the seventh floor.
Rebecca’s office was on the eighth.
By the time smoke crawled beneath the conference-room door, Grant had already kicked out the emergency stairwell lock.
“Move!”
We ran.
Smoke poured upward.
People screamed below us.
A woman fell on the landing.
Luke lifted her.
Grant guided three office workers toward a maintenance exit.
Whatever else Grant had done, command was still built into him.
We reached the alley behind the building as windows exploded above us.
Fire crews arrived within minutes.
Rebecca stood beside me coughing.
“My files.”
“Backups?” I asked.
“Cloud and offsite.”
“Good lawyer.”
“Paranoid lawyer.”
Grant stared at the flames.
“That wasn't meant to kill us.”
Luke looked at him.
“Interesting optimism.”
“They triggered the alarm early. They wanted the office destroyed.”
“Evidence.”
“Yes.”
Rebecca's expression sharpened.
“Then they don't know about the copies.”
“Maybe.”
I turned toward Grant.
“Who has access to the network?”
“Too many people.”
“Give me one.”
He hesitated.
“Dad.”
“One above him.”
Another hesitation.
“Senator Malcolm Reeves.”
Rebecca swore.
I knew the name.
Everybody did.
Reeves had represented Georgia for nineteen years. Defense committee chairman. Presidential adviser. Regular guest at our Thanksgiving parties.
He had given Grant his first congressional recommendation.
“He's involved?”
Grant nodded.
“How deeply?”
“I don't know.”
“Does Dad answer to him?”
“Sometimes.”
A black SUV turned into the alley.
Grant saw it.
“Get behind the truck.”
We moved.
The SUV stopped.
A man stepped out.
Mid-fifties.
Black coat.
Hands visible.
Grant relaxed first.
“Marcus.”
The missing investigator.
Marcus Vale had aged since the storage-unit photograph.
His hair was gray now.
But it was him.
Alive.
He approached us.
“You people are creating a spectacular mess.”
Rebecca stared.
“You've been officially missing for seven years.”
“Seven years and three months.”
Luke moved toward him.
“Where is Daniel?”
Marcus looked at Luke.
“I don't know.”
Luke grabbed him.
Grant intervened.
Marcus didn't resist.
“I don't know, Luke.”
“You were investigating with him!”
“I was.”
“He disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“And you never contacted me?”
“I couldn't.”
Luke released him with disgust.
Marcus turned to me.
“Evelyn Cross.”
No one had called me that except Catherine.
“My name is Mercer.”
“For now.”
I stiffened.
He continued.
“James was a friend.”
“You knew him?”
“Toward the end.”
Another hidden relationship.
Another person who had known my father while I had not.
Marcus looked at the burning building.
“We need somewhere secure.”
Rebecca asked, “Are you federal law enforcement?”
“Technically.”
“That answer won't hold up in court.”
“It doesn't need to. Yet.”
We relocated to an old federal training property outside Atlanta.
No signs.
No marked cars.
No records visible.
Marcus finally explained the investigation.
For thirty years, a network of private contractors and government insiders had manipulated procurement programs.
Sometimes they inflated prices.
Sometimes they diverted equipment.
Sometimes they created shortages so connected companies could win emergency replacement contracts.
Billions moved through shell corporations.
Richard Mercer had begun as a logistics coordinator.
By the time James discovered the scheme, Richard had become one of its key operators.
“Did Richard kill James?” I asked.
Marcus looked at me.
“I believe he ordered the sabotage.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Not yet.”
Luke placed the mechanic payment records on the table.
Marcus examined them.
“This helps.”
“Helps?”
“It establishes connection. Not intent.”
I hated legal language.
“Someone paid a mechanic before my father's brakes failed.”
“Yes.”
“What else do you need?”
“A witness. Communication. Direct authorization.”
“Which may not exist.”
“It may.”
Grant looked at Marcus.
“You told me you were close.”
“We were.”
“Past tense?”
Marcus nodded.
“Reeves discovered there was an informant inside the network.”
Grant's face tightened.
“Me?”
“He doesn't know who.”
“Then the fire?”
“Pressure.”
Rebecca asked, “Why hasn't the government arrested them?”
“Because if we arrest Richard alone, the network sacrifices him and survives.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So my father gets to walk free because you want a bigger case.”
“For now.”
“And Daniel?”
Marcus became quiet.
“I owe you the truth.”
Luke stood straighter.
“Finally.”
“Daniel survived the convoy.”
My knees nearly failed.
“What?”
Marcus looked at me.
“He was recovered by local villagers.”
Luke made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
“You knew.”
“Not immediately.”
“When?”
“Four months later.”
“Four months?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
Marcus's expression told me before his words did.
“I lost contact.”
Luke slammed both hands on the table.
“You lost him?”
“He contacted me once through an intermediary.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
“What did he say?”
Marcus hesitated.
Then reached into his coat.
He handed me a folded piece of paper.
The writing was Daniel’s.
My hands shook.
Marcus—Richard believes I'm dead. Keep it that way. The network reaches further than we knew. Do not tell Luke. Do not tell Evelyn. If I return before Reeves is exposed, they'll use my family to find me.
I stopped reading.
“He mentioned me.”
Marcus nodded.
“He knew you were his sister.”
I continued.
Tell Evelyn someday that I was sorry. She deserved the truth about James. I kept it from her because I thought secrecy would keep her safe. I was wrong about many things. I hope I'm not wrong about this.
Tears fell before I could stop them.
“Is he alive now?”
Marcus answered carefully.
“I have no proof.”
Luke paced away.
“What was the intermediary?”
“A medical aid worker.”
“Name?”
“Anna Serrano.”
“Where is she?”
“Madrid.”
Grant asked, “Have you contacted her?”
“Many times.”
“Nothing?”
“Until yesterday.”
Everyone froze.
Marcus pulled out his phone.
He played an audio recording.
A woman’s voice.
American accent.
Nervous.
“Marcus, I received your message. I haven't heard Daniel Cross's name in six years. But three weeks ago, a man came to the clinic where I work. He left this for me and said I'd know who should get it.”
Paper rustled.
Then:
“It says, ‘Tell Luke the river still runs north.’ I don't know what that means.”
Luke stopped breathing.
I looked at him.
“What?”
He turned toward us.
“When we were kids, Daniel and I had a cabin near the New River.”
Marcus asked, “Where?”
“West Virginia.”
Rebecca was already standing.
Luke's eyes filled.
“That sentence was our code.”
“For what?”
May you like
He looked at me.
“For come find me.”
