By seven that morning, Wyatt had been moved again.
This time nobody entered the transfer into a hospital computer.
No ambulance coordinator received a route.
No administrator printed paperwork.
Agent Keene used a federal medical team, an unmarked vehicle, and a service entrance not listed on public maps.
Wyatt went to a secure rehabilitation wing attached to a military medical facility outside the city.
I learned the destination only after he arrived.
That was fine with me.
I was beginning to appreciate ignorance as a security measure.
Wyatt called.
“Blue baseball.”
“There never was one.”
“Good.”
“You all right?”
“My knee hates every vehicle ever manufactured.”
“That sounds normal.”
“Where are you?”
“Safe.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
He laughed quietly.
Then his tone changed.
“Did they find where Randall planned to take me?”
“No.”
“Move W first.”
“Yes.”
“What does it mean?”
“We’re working on it.”
“I hate that sentence.”
“So do I.”
Federal agents searched every property tied to Irving, Randall, Gerald Pike, Marissa Vale, Meridian, Crosswind, and Ozark Agricultural Partners.
Nothing fit.
Lewis came to the safe house with Denise shortly after noon.
“We need Sabrina.”
I disliked the idea immediately.
“For what?”
“She may know where Irving moved people.”
“She already gave you the lake house.”
“We searched it.”
“And?”
“Nothing that explains MOVE W FIRST.”
Denise placed several photographs on the table.
Storage buildings.
Old farms.
Cabins.
Industrial properties.
“Recognize any?”
I did not.
“Wyatt?”
“He’s looking separately.”
Lewis said, “Sabrina may.”
“She’ll trade.”
“Probably.”
“For what?”
“Protection.”
“She already has it.”
“She wants relocation away from her father’s jail network.”
That phrase caught me.
“Jail network?”
“Irving has been passing messages.”
“How?”
“Other inmates. Attorneys. Visitors. We’ve stopped several.”
“He’s still directing people?”
“We think so.”
I felt anger rise.
“Then isolate him.”
“Prosecutors are working on it.”
The law moved more carefully than anger.
That was probably why civilization survived.
Sabrina agreed to talk without Wyatt present.
I watched through glass.
She looked smaller than before.
Not innocent.
Just tired.
Lewis placed Randall’s schedule in front of her.
MOVE W FIRST.
Sabrina read it.
Her face changed.
“You need to move Wyatt.”
“We did.”
“Again.”
“He’s secure.”
“You don’t understand.”
Lewis leaned forward.
“Then help me.”
She looked toward the mirrored glass.
“Is Abraham there?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I did not know why that mattered.
She pointed to the note.
“W doesn’t mean Wyatt.”
Lewis stared.
“What?”
“It means witness.”
My pulse changed.
“Which witness?”
“I don’t know.”
“How do you know?”
“My father used codes.”
“W for witness?”
“Yes.”
“Then what did he call Wyatt?”
“Junior.”
I hated that.
Irving had reduced my son to a category.
Lewis asked, “Who is the witness?”
Sabrina shook her head.
“Dad kept separate lists.”
“Where?”
“Lake house.”
“We found them.”
“No. You found the steel box.”
Lewis stopped.
“There’s another place?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Sabrina stared at the table.
“The red room.”
“What red room?”
She looked confused.
“You didn’t find it?”
“No.”
That frightened her.
“The lake house has a room under the garage.”
“We searched beneath the garage.”
“Not there.”
“Then where?”
“The entrance is outside.”
“Show me.”
She asked for a map.
Lewis gave her one.
Sabrina marked a point about eighty yards from the lake house near the shoreline.
“There’s an old pump shed.”
Agents had searched it.
Nothing.
“The floor lifts.”
Lewis immediately called the team.
While they searched, he continued questioning.
“What is the red room?”
“My father’s archive.”
“Why red?”
“The walls.”
“Painted?”
“No.”
She swallowed.
“Soundproofing.”
Red acoustic panels.
“What did he keep there?”
“Records.”
“What kind?”
“People.”
The answer sounded wrong until she explained.
Irving maintained dossiers.
Debts.
Affairs.
Criminal histories.
Medical records.
Photographs.
Recordings.
Anything that could be used as pressure.
Gerald Pike had helped gather them.
The lake house stored the active files.
Lewis asked, “Were you in there?”
“Twice.”
“When?”
“After Mom died.”
“Why?”
“I was looking for her records.”
“Did you find them?”
“No.”
“What did you find?”
Sabrina hesitated.
“Videos.”
“What videos?”
“People being questioned.”
“By Irving?”
“Sometimes.”
“Randall?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened to those people?”
“I don’t know.”
Lewis did not let her escape.
“You watched videos.”
“Yes.”
“Were they restrained?”
“Some.”
“Injured?”
“Yes.”
“And you never went to police.”
She closed her eyes.
“No.”
Again, victim and participant occupied the same chair.
Lewis asked, “Who might W be?”
Sabrina thought.
“Someone Dad believed could testify.”
“That includes half the case.”
“He ranked them.”
“How?”
“Red, yellow, green.”
“Meaning?”
“Red meant immediate danger.”
“Yellow?”
“Could become dangerous.”
“Green?”
“Useful.”
“What color was Wyatt?”
She looked toward the glass.
“Red.”
I felt nothing surprising anymore.
“Abraham?”
“Yellow until Christmas.”
“Then?”
“Red.”
“Victor?”
“Red.”
“Caleb?”
“Yellow.”
“Laura Mercer?”
Sabrina froze.
“You found Laura?”
Lewis ignored the question.
“What color?”
Sabrina whispered, “Black.”
Lewis leaned forward.
“What does black mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Guess.”
“My father only used it twice.”
“For whom?”
“My mother.”
The room went cold.
“And Laura.”
Margaret had been murdered.
If black meant what it appeared to mean, Laura had been marked for elimination years ago.
Lewis asked, “Why wasn’t she killed?”
“Dad couldn’t find her.”
“Randall found her six months ago.”
Sabrina’s face changed.
“Then Laura is W.”
Maybe.
Move witness first.
Randall might intend to move Laura before attacking me.
But Laura was under federal protection.
Unless her location had leaked too.
Lewis called immediately.
She was safe.
Frank answered from beside her.
“Blue baseball,” he said.
I nearly smiled.
“Wrong family.”
“Wyatt told me.”
“Laura there?”
“Yes.”
“Put her on.”
Laura came to the phone.
Lewis asked whether she knew any place Irving used for witnesses.
She was silent.
Then she said, “Hawthorne.”
“What is Hawthorne?”
“An old psychiatric facility.”
Sabrina, hearing through speakerphone, looked up sharply.
“Hawthorne?”
“You know it?”
“No.”
Laura continued.
“It closed years ago. Irving represented an investment group that bought part of the property.”
Lewis searched.
Hawthorne Behavioral Center sat forty miles east of Springfield.
Abandoned for twelve years.
Ownership passed through several companies.
One connected indirectly to Gerald Pike.
Agents moved.
The lake-house search team called at almost the same moment.
They had found the red room.
The pump-shed floor concealed a narrow staircase.
Below it was a climate-controlled archive.
Hundreds of files.
Video drives.
Cash.
Weapons.
And a wall covered with photographs.
Active targets.
Lewis asked them to find Laura.
Black mark.
Then Margaret.
Black.
Then Wyatt.
Red.
Me.
Red.
Victor.
Red.
Caleb.
Yellow.
Daniel Reeves.
Red.
Marissa Vale.
Green.
Gerald Pike.
Green.
Stephen Randall.
No photograph.
That made sense.
He was not a target.
He was the instrument.
Then an agent found a file marked W.
Lewis ordered it opened.
Inside was a photograph.
Not Laura.
Not Victor.
Not Caleb.
An elderly man stood outside a church.
I recognized him after a second.
Howard Bell.
Our retired attorney.
The man who helped Eleanor draft the original Jefferson agreements.
MOVE W FIRST.
Witness.
Howard.
I called him.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Lewis contacted Tulsa police.
Howard’s home was empty.
Front door unlocked.
Coffee still warm.
His car remained in the garage.
Security footage from a neighbor showed a medical transport van arriving shortly after dawn.
A man wearing medical scrubs knocked.
Howard opened the door.
They spoke.
Then Howard voluntarily entered the van.
No struggle.
Randall knew exactly how to make people cooperate.
Lewis called Howard’s doctor.
No medical transport had been scheduled.
The van was traced through traffic cameras.
East.
Toward Missouri.
Toward Hawthorne.
Agents converged.
I wanted to go.
Lewis refused.
“This is not your rescue.”
“He’s my friend.”
“He’s also eighty-one and possibly being held by armed men. You showing up does not improve that.”
He was right.
I hated him for approximately ten seconds.
Then we waited.
Waiting is worse than action because imagination fills every empty minute.
At 3:12 p.m., agents reached Hawthorne.
The property covered dozens of acres.
Broken windows.
Overgrown courtyards.
Several buildings.
They found the transport van behind an old treatment wing.
Empty.
Inside were Howard’s glasses.
Blood on one armrest.
Not much.
Enough.
Teams entered.
The first building was empty.
The second contained old medical furniture.
The third showed recent use.
Generator.
Food.
Blankets.
Restraints.
No Howard.
Then shots were fired.
Lewis’s radio filled with voices.
One agent injured.
Suspect moving between buildings.
No identification.
Frank paced.
I sat because if I started pacing too, neither of us would stop.
Ten minutes later, agents found Howard.
Alive.
Locked inside a former therapy room.
His forehead was cut.
One wrist bruised.
But he could speak.
“Randall?”
Lewis asked through radio.
Howard answered.
“He was here.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“Woman.”
“Marissa Vale?”
“I don’t know her name.”
Description matched.
“Gerald Pike?”
Howard shook his head.
“No.”
“What did they want?”
“Jefferson.”
“What specifically?”
“The option.”
“Did you give them anything?”
Howard almost laughed.
“I’m old, not stupid.”
That sounded like him.
“What did they ask?”
“How to invalidate it.”
“And?”
“I told them the truth.”
“What truth?”
“They can’t.”
That was the first good news.
The option was too deeply embedded in the original land agreements.
Without Wyatt and me voluntarily terminating it, Irving’s plan could not survive a court challenge.
“Why kidnap you then?”
Howard’s expression changed.
“They wanted something else.”
“What?”
“Eleanor’s original trust certificate.”
My attention sharpened.
“What certificate?”
Howard looked toward the camera.
“Abe knows.”
I did not.
That frightened me.
Howard continued.
“Eleanor created a physical verification instrument.”
Laura appeared confused too.
“What are you talking about?”
Howard explained.
When the trust was amended fifteen years earlier, Eleanor worried about forged signatures.
So Howard created an authentication certificate.
Any major delegation of trust authority required a code printed on that certificate.
Without the code, documents could be challenged immediately.
“Where is it?” Lewis asked.
Howard looked at me through the video connection.
“Eleanor kept it.”
“I never saw it.”
“She said she hid it somewhere nobody searching business files would look.”
That sounded exactly like her.
Randall had kidnapped Howard because he believed the attorney knew where it was.
He did not.
But he knew I might.
Agents continued searching Hawthorne.
They found Marissa Vale in a service tunnel.
She surrendered.
Randall escaped.
Again.
Gerald Pike was not there.
Marissa asked for an attorney.
Then changed her mind when agents told her Howard survived.
She had not expected that.
She said Randall planned to kill him after getting the certificate location.
“What changed?”
“He ran when police came.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about Gerald?”
“He’s meeting him.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Lewis leaned closer.
“What happens at six?”
Marissa’s face changed.
She knew the schedule.
“Nothing now.”
“What was supposed to happen?”
“Howard first.”
“Then?”
“Abraham.”
“How?”
She looked toward me through the camera.
“Randall was going to call him.”
“Say what?”
“That Wyatt had been taken.”
My pulse slowed.
Exactly what Wyatt predicted.
“What proof?”
“A video.”
“Of Wyatt?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Marissa looked ashamed.
“A recording from the basement.”
Sabrina and Irving had filmed Wyatt during captivity.
Randall intended to send me old footage and claim it was current.
Then demand I come alone with the trust certificate.
Blue baseball.
Wyatt had saved me from a trap before it was even sprung.
Lewis asked Marissa, “Where was Abraham supposed to go?”
“Hawthorne.”
“Then why attack the hospital?”
“To make him afraid enough to believe Wyatt could be taken again.”
The hospital attack had not only been an assassination attempt.
It was psychological preparation.
Make me believe nowhere was safe.
Then show me footage.
Then demand obedience.
Use the father.
Lewis asked, “What happens if Randall cannot get the certificate?”
Marissa stared at the table.
“He has another plan.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who does?”
“Gerald.”
“What kind of plan?”
“He said Abraham doesn’t need to sign if the trust can be frozen.”
Laura immediately understood.
“A legal challenge.”
Marissa nodded.
“Gerald has a judge.”
The conspiracy had begun with a former judge helping Irving find vulnerable people.
Now Gerald Pike intended to use another judge to freeze the Yates trust before March.
If the trust were tied up in litigation when the freight corridor received designation, Heartland might be unable to exercise the Jefferson option.
Irving did not need to win forever.
Only until the deadline passed.
Lewis asked, “Which judge?”
Marissa shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Then she remembered one word.
“Crown.”
It meant nothing to me.
Laura reacted immediately.
“Crown Petition.”
“What is that?”
“A sealed emergency filing used in certain trust disputes.”
“Who can file it?”
“Someone claiming beneficiary rights.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who could claim rights to my trust?”
Laura looked at me.
“Family.”
There were very few people.
Wyatt.
Me.
And through marriage, arguments could be attempted by Sabrina.
But Sabrina was in custody and cooperating.
Unless Irving had prepared someone else.
Laura asked Howard a question.
“Did Eleanor ever amend contingent beneficiaries?”
Howard went quiet.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I need the trust schedule.”
“Howard.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“After Eleanor’s death, if both Abraham and Wyatt were incapacitated, temporary beneficial supervision passed to a designated family representative.”
“Who?”
Howard answered.
“Sabrina.”
The room went silent.
Sabrina herself looked stunned when Lewis told her.
“I didn’t know.”
Maybe she did not.
Irving might have known.
If both Wyatt and I were declared incapacitated—or dead—Sabrina could claim standing to challenge trust administration.
That explained why she remained useful even after the murders.
But Sabrina was now charged with trying to kill Wyatt.
Any court would question her claim.
Unless another document existed.
Howard’s face tightened.
“There’s one more contingent representative.”
“Who?”
He looked at me.
“Eleanor added the person because she wanted someone independent of immediate family.”
“Who, Howard?”
He said the name.
Frank Mercer.
My oldest friend.
The man sitting beside me.
Frank stared at the screen as if Howard had spoken in another language.
“I’m what?”
“You were the backup trust protector.”
“I never agreed to that.”
“You signed.”
“When?”
“Fifteen years ago.”
Frank’s face changed.
He remembered.
“Eleanor told me it was emergency paperwork.”
“It was.”
Laura whispered, “Dad.”
Frank stood.
“No.”
Lewis looked at him.
“What?”
Frank stared toward the front window of the safe house.
“They don’t need Sabrina.”
His voice had become very quiet.
“They need me.”
At that exact moment, an agent outside shouted.
Glass shattered.
A bullet struck the wall where Frank had been sitting seconds earlier.
Agents dragged us to the floor.
Another shot came through the window.
Then tires screamed outside.
By the time federal vehicles reached the road, the shooter was gone.
But the message was unmistakable.
Randall and Gerald had stopped trying to use Wyatt against me.
They had discovered a different path into Eleanor’s trust.
And Frank Mercer had just become the most valuable man in their plan.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: Frank Became the Last Door Into Eleanor’s Trust, and Gerald Pike Tried to Open It With a Lie About Laura’s Survival
My Son’s Four-Word Warning Arrived Before Midnight, and Everything About It Told Me He Was Already in Trouble
Part 14 of 20
