Jonathan stepped directly in front of me.
“You are not going in there alone.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“You just picked up your keys.”
“I’m going to show them the building.”
The investigator beside us held out his hand.
“Give me the address Vincent sent.”
I showed him the message.
His expression changed.
“You own this property?”
“I used to.”
“What does that mean?”
“Northstar stopped operating from there about twelve years ago. The building was transferred to another holding company and eventually leased out.”
“To whom?”
“I don’t know.”
Derek laughed from across the boardroom.
“You don’t even know who uses your own warehouse.”
I turned toward him.
“No.”
Then I looked at the transmitter that had been removed from his jacket.
“But apparently your uncle does.”
The investigator stepped toward Derek.
“How long have you been wearing that jacket?”
“Since this morning.”
“Where was it before that?”
“My house.”
“Could Vincent have accessed it?”
Derek hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
Bertha answered for him.
“Yes.”
Derek turned sharply.
“Mom.”
“He was at the house.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
Roger stood.
“You saw him?”
Bertha looked exhausted now.
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because he told me what would happen if I did.”
Roger stared at his wife as if he no longer recognized her.
“What exactly has my brother been doing?”
Bertha shook her head.
“I only know pieces.”
“Then start giving us the pieces.”
She looked toward the investigators.
“Do I need a lawyer?”
“Yes,” one of them said immediately. “And before you answer detailed questions, we’ll explain your rights and the circumstances of the interview.”
For once, Bertha didn’t argue.
Derek did.
“She’s not saying anything.”
Bertha turned toward her son.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”
Derek stared at her.
“You helped me.”
“And I will spend the rest of my life regretting that.”
“What does that mean?” Roger demanded.
Bertha looked at him.
“I knew Derek was moving money.”
Roger’s face hardened.
“You told us that.”
“I knew Vincent was involved.”
“You told us that too.”
She swallowed.
“But I also knew Vincent was using Baldric’s trucks.”
I stepped closer.
“For what?”
“I never asked.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the truth.”
“You saw the shipment records?”
“Yes.”
“What was being shipped?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where?”
“Different places.”
“Which places?”
“St. Louis. Indianapolis. Kansas City. Sometimes smaller towns.”
My mind immediately went to Marcus.
“Why did he disappear?”
Bertha looked at the floor.
“I heard Derek arguing with Vincent about him.”
“When?”
“Four months ago.”
“What did they say?”
She hesitated.
“Bertha.”
She looked at me.
“Vincent said the driver opened something he wasn’t supposed to open.”
My hands curled into fists.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did Derek say?”
“He said Marcus could be paid.”
“And Vincent?”
“He said money wouldn’t solve it.”
The room went silent.
I looked at Derek.
He had gone pale.
“You knew.”
“No.”
“You knew Marcus was in danger.”
“I knew Vincent was angry.”
“And you said nothing.”
Derek stepped toward me.
“What was I supposed to do?”
“Call the police.”
“You don’t know my uncle.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“But I know you.”
He looked away.
I turned toward the investigator.
“There’s something you need to understand about that warehouse.”
“What?”
“The building is older than Northstar.”
“How old?”
“Late 1940s, maybe early ’50s.”
“And the entrance you mentioned?”
“Not exactly an entrance.”
I pulled a notepad toward me and began sketching.
“When I bought the property, we discovered an old maintenance corridor behind the west wall.”
The investigator leaned closer.
“Accessible from outside?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“There used to be a boiler room behind the main warehouse. We sealed the interior opening when we renovated, but I kept the exterior service access.”
“Why?”
“Utility lines.”
“You said Vincent doesn’t know about it.”
“He shouldn’t.”
“Who does?”
“Me. Two former maintenance supervisors. Maybe whoever has the original building plans.”
“Could Marcus know?”
“Yes.”
That caught everyone’s attention.
I looked toward the photograph of Marcus tied to the chair.
“He worked at that warehouse before we moved operations.”
Jonathan understood immediately.
“So if Marcus escaped whatever room they’re holding him in—”
“He might know where to go.”
The investigator took the sketch.
“We need building plans.”
“I can get them.”
“No phone calls about the location until we know who else is compromised.”
I nodded.
He looked toward his partner.
“Notify the tactical team through secure channels. Quiet approach. No marked vehicles near the property.”
Derek suddenly spoke.
“You’re going to get Marcus killed.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because Vincent watches everything.”
“How?”
Derek said nothing.
“Cameras?”
Silence.
The investigator stepped closer.
“Mr. Vance, if you know something that could affect a hostage rescue, now is the time to say it.”
Derek looked at Bertha.
Then Roger.
Finally he whispered, “The warehouse has cameras.”
“Where?”
“Every entrance.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“Inside?”
“Yes.”
“Does Vincent monitor them remotely?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“How do you know?”
Derek closed his eyes.
“Because I helped install them.”
Roger sank back into his chair.
I felt sick.
Not because Derek had surprised me anymore.
Because every answer revealed another moment when someone could have stopped this.
“Any cameras on the west maintenance access?”
Derek looked confused.
“What maintenance access?”
For the first time since the phone call, I felt something close to hope.
“You don’t know about it.”
“What are you talking about?”
I turned toward the investigator.
“Neither does he.”
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in the back of an unmarked vehicle.
The tactical team had copies of my hand-drawn layout.
Nobody liked relying on a twenty-year-old memory, least of all me.
But we had something Vincent didn’t know we had.
A way behind him.
The lead officer turned from the front seat.
“You stay in the vehicle.”
“I understand.”
“I mean it.”
“I said I understand.”
“No matter what you hear, you do not enter that building.”
I looked at him.
“My employee is in there because someone used my company.”
“That doesn’t make you part of the entry team.”
“I know.”
He studied me for another second.
Then nodded.
We stopped almost a mile from the warehouse.
From there, officers moved quietly through an industrial area that had been nearly abandoned after several businesses relocated.
I watched everything through a secure video feed.
The warehouse looked exactly as I remembered it.
Long brick walls.
Corrugated roof.
Loading bays along the south side.
But someone had painted over most of the Northstar markings years earlier.
The faded logo behind Marcus in Vincent’s photograph was inside the original dispatch room.
I knew precisely where that room was.
The west team reached the old service entrance.
One officer whispered through the feed.
“Found it.”
My pulse jumped.
The metal door was almost invisible beneath vines and rust.
“Locked.”
I had expected that.
“Look about eighteen inches below the handle,” I said through the secure connection.
“Small steel plate.”
A pause.
“Found it.”
“Four screws.”
Another pause.
“Plate is off.”
“Manual release behind it.”
The officer pulled it.
The door opened.
Nobody spoke.
The team disappeared inside.
I watched the screen.
Concrete corridor.
Old pipes.
Dust.
Nothing had changed.
They moved slowly.
At the end of the passage was the wall we had built during renovations.
But the access panel was still there.
The officer found it.
Beyond that wall lay the old boiler room.
Then the warehouse.
The team entered.
No alarm.
No shouting.
No gunfire.
I realized I had been holding my breath.
Then a voice came through.
“Movement.”
The camera image stopped.
I leaned forward.
“What happened?”
Nobody answered me.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Then:
“One individual. Male. Not Marcus.”
“Armed?”
“Negative. Detained.”
They moved again.
Another team approached from the east once the west team confirmed they were inside.
The operation unfolded slowly.
Painfully slowly.
Then they reached the dispatch room.
The door was open.
The chair from the photograph sat in the middle.
Rope lay on the floor.
But Marcus was gone.
My stomach dropped.
“Where is he?”
The lead officer didn’t answer.
Blood marked one arm of the chair.
Fresh.
Then someone noticed words scratched into the dust on the floor.
WEST.
I stood.
“Marcus knows.”
The agent beside me turned.
“What?”
“He knows the maintenance corridor.”
The tactical team began moving toward the western side of the building.
Then came three loud bangs.
I flinched.
“Shots?”
The radio erupted.
“Shots fired, north section!”
Every officer moved.
I gripped the seat in front of me.
“Marcus.”
“Stay here.”
The agent jumped from the vehicle.
I watched the feed.
Officers entered a storage area.
Empty.
Another door.
Then another.
Finally a voice shouted.
“Police! Show me your hands!”
A man stepped from behind a stack of pallets.
It wasn’t Vincent.
It was Marcus.
His hands were raised.
His shirt was stained with blood.
He could barely stand.
“Don’t shoot.”
An officer rushed toward him.
“Are you Marcus Reed?”
“Yes.”
“Where is Vincent?”
Marcus pointed toward the north loading dock.
“He ran.”
“Armed?”
“Yes.”
“How many people with him?”
“Two.”
“Anyone else inside?”
Marcus nodded.
“Three drivers.”
My heart stopped.
“What drivers?” I said toward the feed.
Marcus couldn’t hear me.
The officer asked him.
“What drivers?”
“Northstar.”
I stood.
The agent remaining with me looked over.
“What did he say?”
I already knew.
Marcus continued.
“They’ve been missing.”
“Where?”
“Basement.”
The warehouse didn’t have a basement.
At least, not on any plan I knew.
Then I remembered.
The freight pit.
It had been covered during renovations.
“Tell them east side,” I said.
“Old inspection pit beneath Bay Four.”
The message was relayed.
Officers moved.
Beneath a steel plate at Bay Four, they found stairs.
Three men were inside.
Alive.
Weak.
One had been missing for eleven days.
Another for nearly two months.
The third had been reported missing by his family six weeks earlier.
All three had worked freight routes connected to unauthorized shipments.
But Vincent was still gone.
Police found the north loading door open.
Tire tracks led away from the property.
He had prepared an escape route.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone looked at me.
“It’s him.”
The agent activated recording equipment.
I answered.
“Marcus is alive.”
Vincent laughed softly.
“I know.”
“You lost.”
“Did I?”
“You’re running.”
“I’m repositioning.”
“You sound afraid.”
That stopped the laughter.
“Careful, Baldric.”
“You threatened my daughter.”
“I never touched your daughter.”
“You used my company.”
“Your company was useful.”
“What were you moving?”
Silence.
“Vincent?”
“You built a beautiful machine, Baldric. Trucks nobody questioned. Warehouses in every major corridor. Drivers trusted at checkpoints.”
“What was in the shipments?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Where are you?”
He laughed again.
“Do you really think I’m going to tell you?”
“No.”
I looked toward the investigator.
“But I wanted to keep you talking.”
Vincent went silent.
Then he disconnected.
The investigator immediately began coordinating the trace.
I sat back.
For the first time in hours, I allowed myself to breathe.
Marcus was alive.
But this wasn’t over.
Not even close.
At the hospital, Arianne had finished giving her statement.
Her injuries had been photographed.
Blood samples preserved.
The cup Bertha had used for the tea had been recovered from the mansion.
Investigators found residue inside it consistent with the medication detected in Arianne’s system, though laboratory confirmation would take time.
Derek and Bertha were now dealing with attorneys and investigators.
Roger had gone silent.
And somewhere between Springfield and wherever he was heading, Vincent was running.
I went to see Marcus.
He was lying in a hospital bed with his wife beside him.
When I entered, he tried to sit up.
“Don’t.”
“Mr. Baldric.”
I walked closer.
His eyes filled with tears.
“I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I should have told you.”
“Told me what?”
He looked toward his wife.
She squeezed his hand.
Marcus took a breath.
“Four months ago, I was hauling a sealed trailer from St. Louis.”
“Authorized?”
“The paperwork looked authorized.”
“But it wasn’t.”
He shook his head.
“I stopped because I heard something moving inside.”
My stomach tightened.
“What was it?”
“Crates.”
“What kind?”
“I opened one.”
His face changed.
“What was inside?”
“Electronics. Medical equipment. Expensive stuff. Serial numbers removed.”
Stolen cargo.
Marcus continued.
“But that wasn’t what scared me.”
“What did?”
“There was another compartment inside the trailer.”
I waited.
“What was in it?”
“Documents.”
“What documents?”
“Passports. Driver’s licenses. Company IDs.”
“Whose?”
“Different people.”
“Why would Vincent have them?”
“I don’t know.”
Marcus swallowed.
“But one of the IDs belonged to a Northstar driver who supposedly quit two years ago.”
I remembered him.
Calvin Moss.
Good driver.
Quiet man.
He had stopped showing up.
Human resources received an email saying he had moved away.
We never questioned it.
Marcus looked at me.
“I took pictures.”
“Where are they?”
“That’s why Vincent kept me alive.”
“Where?”
Marcus looked toward the door.
“Before they grabbed me, I uploaded them.”
“To where?”
“My work cloud account.”
I stared at him.
“You still have access?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Password was changed after I disappeared.”
I felt cold.
“By whom?”
“I don’t know.”
That meant someone inside Northstar had access.
Someone besides Derek.
Someone besides Vincent.
The network was deeper.
My phone rang.
Jonathan.
I answered.
“Tell me something good.”
“I don’t know if it’s good.”
“What happened?”
“We recovered Arianne’s flash drive.”
I stood.
“Where?”
“Vincent didn’t have it.”
“But the camera showed him taking it.”
“He took a flash drive.”
“What does that mean?”
“Arianne had two.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course she did.
My daughter had known she was in danger.
“She made a copy.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Gideon’s room.”
My grandson.
I felt sick thinking about how close all of this had come to him.
“Is Gideon safe?”
“With Arianne’s sister. Security is with them.”
“What’s on the drive?”
“We’re still going through it.”
“Anything useful?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Shipment records.”
“Marcus told me about them.”
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“Audio.”
My heart accelerated.
“What audio?”
“Arianne recorded Derek and Vincent.”
“When?”
“Several conversations over the last three months.”
I looked through the hospital window.
“Does Vincent say what they were doing?”
“Not directly.”
“Then what do we have?”
“One recording mentions Marcus.”
I looked toward his hospital room.
“What does it say?”
Jonathan hesitated.
“Derek asks Vincent what happened to ‘the driver who opened the trailer.’”
“And Vincent?”
“He says, ‘He’s being kept quiet until we find what he copied.’”
That connected Derek directly to Marcus.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Jonathan’s voice became quieter.
“Another recording is between Bertha and Vincent.”
I froze.
“What did she say?”
“She tells him she wants out.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“What was Vincent’s response?”
Jonathan paused.
“He told her nobody gets out.”
I thought about Bertha in the boardroom.
The arrogance.
The cruelty.
The fear when Vincent’s photograph appeared.
She had been involved.
But perhaps she had also realized too late what she had helped create.
“Keep going.”
“There’s a third recording.”
“Who?”
“Roger.”
I said nothing.
Jonathan continued.
“Roger and Vincent.”
My stomach sank.
“Roger told us Vincent hadn’t been involved with the company in years.”
“I know.”
“What does the recording say?”
“It’s dated eight months ago.”
“Play it.”
Jonathan played the file through his phone.
Roger’s voice came first.
“I told you to stop using Vance accounts.”
Then Vincent.
“And I told you I need another six months.”
Roger answered.
“You’re going to destroy us.”
Vincent laughed.
“Then keep your mouth shut.”
Roger said something quieter.
I couldn’t hear it.
Jonathan increased the volume.
Then Roger’s words became clear.
“If Baldric ever finds out you’re using his network, he’ll bury all of us.”
The recording stopped.
I stared through the window.
Roger knew.
Maybe not everything.
But he knew enough to lie.
“Where is Roger now?”
Jonathan went silent.
“Jonathan.”
“He left the board meeting.”
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
“Where did he go?”
“We don’t know.”
My blood went cold.
“Find him.”
I walked back toward Marcus’s room.
Then another call came through.
The investigator from the warehouse.
“We found Vincent’s escape vehicle.”
“Where?”
“Abandoned near Interstate 72.”
“Any sign of him?”
“No.”
“Roger Vance may be involved.”
“We just received the same information.”
“Can you locate him?”
“We’re working on it.”
I looked toward Marcus.
He was speaking quietly with his wife.
Then he suddenly looked at me.
“Mr. Baldric.”
I covered the phone.
“What?”
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“When Vincent was moving me tonight, he got a call.”
“From who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he say?”
Marcus closed his eyes, remembering.
“He said, ‘Bring the boy.’”
Every part of me went cold.
“What boy?”
“I don’t know.”
I immediately called Arianne.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then her sister.
She answered.
“Baldric?”
“Where’s Gideon?”
Silence.
“WHERE IS GIDEON?”
“He’s here.”
I breathed.
“Put him on.”
“Dad?”
My grandson’s little voice nearly broke me.
“Hey, buddy.”
“Mommy said I have to stay with Aunt Lucy.”
“That’s right.”
“Are you coming?”
“Soon.”
I looked toward the investigator.
“Stay inside. Don’t open the door for anyone except the officers already there.”
“What’s happening?”
“I’ll explain later.”
I ended the call.
The boy was safe.
So who had Vincent meant?
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
A photograph loaded.
Roger Vance sat in the passenger seat of a car.
His hands were tied.
Blood ran from his forehead.
Beside him was a handwritten note.
HE LIED TO BOTH OF US.
Then another photograph arrived.
This one showed Vincent standing behind Roger.
And beside Vincent was a young man I had never seen before.
Maybe twenty-five.
Terrified.
His hands were bound too.
The next message contained only five words:
ASK ROGER WHO THE BOY IS.
I sent the photograph to investigators.
Minutes later, Jonathan called.
“We identified him.”
“Who?”
“His name is Noah Vance.”
I frowned.
“Vance?”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
Jonathan hesitated.
Then:
“Roger’s son.”
I went completely still.
“Derek’s brother?”
“No.”
Another pause.
“Roger has apparently been hiding him for twenty-five years.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Why?”
“We’re still trying to determine that.”
Then Jonathan said something that changed everything again.
“Noah works for Northstar.”
“What?”
“Under a different last name.”
“Which one?”
“Grant.”
I knew that name.
Noah Grant.
Quiet young man.
Warehouse inventory.
Hired three years earlier.
I had spoken to him twice.
Maybe three times.
“What was he doing at Northstar?”
Jonathan answered slowly.
“According to Arianne’s files, Noah was the employee who first noticed the unauthorized shipment numbers.”
Everything connected.
Marcus opened the trailer.
Noah found the records.
Arianne found Derek’s accounts.
Three people had independently discovered different pieces of the same operation.
And Vincent had been trying to silence all three.
My phone rang again.
Vincent.
This time I answered immediately.
“What do you want?”
“No games now, Baldric.”
“Let them go.”
“Bring me Arianne’s drive.”
“You already took it.”
“You know that one was worthless.”
So he knew about the copy.
“How?”
Vincent laughed.
“You still haven’t figured out the most important part.”
“What?”
“I didn’t put that transmitter on Derek.”
I stopped.
“Then who did?”
“Someone who wanted me to hear your meeting.”
“Who?”
“Ask your attorney.”
I looked toward the hallway.
Jonathan wasn’t there.
He was still at the office.
“What are you talking about?”
Vincent continued.
“You think you discovered my operation because your legal team is brilliant?”
My mouth went dry.
“What are you saying?”
“Somebody wanted you to find it.”
“Who?”
Vincent ignored the question.
“You have ninety minutes. Bring me the drive, or Roger and Noah disappear.”
“Where?”
“I’ll send instructions.”
The line went dead.
I stood motionless.
Then I called Jonathan.
He answered immediately.
“What?”
“Who first found the irregular payments?”
A pause.
“Our forensic accounting team.”
“Who specifically?”
“I’d have to check.”
“Check now.”
I heard typing.
Then silence.
“Jonathan?”
“That’s strange.”
“What?”
“The initial internal referral came anonymously.”
“When?”
“Two days before Arianne called you.”
I stopped.
Two days before.
Before I activated anything.
Before the board meeting.
Someone had already begun moving the pieces.
“Can you trace it?”
“We can try.”
“Do it.”
“Baldric, what happened?”
I looked again at Vincent’s message.
“I think somebody has been using all of us.”
Twenty minutes later, Jonathan called back.
His voice sounded different.
“We traced the anonymous referral.”
“To who?”
“Not a person.”
“What does that mean?”
“It came through an internal Northstar terminal.”
“Which terminal?”
“The executive floor.”
I frowned.
“My building?”
“Yes.”
“Which office?”
A pause.
Then Jonathan said:
“Yours.”
I stopped walking.
“That’s impossible.”
“I know.”
“I haven’t used that terminal in weeks.”
“Someone did.”
“When?”
“Forty-eight hours before Arianne called.”
My office was secured.
Only a handful of people had access.
Jonathan.
My operations director.
My longtime assistant.
And—
I suddenly remembered something.
The night Arianne called, I had left my office early.
Someone had been there.
Someone I trusted enough that I hadn’t thought twice about it.
I closed my eyes.
“No.”
“What?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I finally understood.
The irregular payments hadn’t been accidentally discovered.
Someone had deliberately placed them in front of my legal team.
Someone knew Arianne was in danger before she called me.
Someone knew about Vincent.
Someone knew about the shipments.
And someone had access to my private office.
My phone buzzed.
A new message.
Not from Vincent.
From a number I recognized.
My longtime assistant, Evelyn.
BALDRIC, DO NOT GIVE VINCENT THAT DRIVE.
I stared at it.
Then another message appeared.
I KNOW WHERE HE’S TAKING ROGER AND NOAH.
I called immediately.
Evelyn answered.
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“What have you done?”
“What I should have done years ago.”
“Were you in my office?”
“Yes.”
“You sent the financial records to Jonathan?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t go to the police.”
“Why not?”
Her next words made my blood run cold.
“Because Vincent isn’t the only person involved.”
“Who else?”
Silence.
“Evelyn.”
“When I tell you, you’re going to hate me.”
“Tell me.”
She started crying.
“My husband worked for Vincent.”
I remembered Evelyn’s husband.
Samuel.
He had died four years earlier.
At least, that was what I had been told.
“Worked for him doing what?”
“Moving shipments.”
“Samuel was a driver?”
“Not for Northstar.”
“Then for who?”
“Vincent.”
She took a shaky breath.
“Samuel found out what was happening and tried to leave.”
“What happened?”
“The police said his death was an accident.”
“And you don’t believe that.”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because two days after his funeral, Vincent came to my house.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did he say?”
“He showed me a picture of my daughter leaving school.”
I said nothing.
“For four years, I kept quiet.”
Her voice broke.
“Then I saw Arianne crying in your office three months ago.”
I remembered that day.
Arianne had told me she and Derek were having problems.
Nothing more.
Evelyn continued.
“I knew that look.”
“What look?”
“The look of someone trying to decide whether telling the truth would get them killed.”
I sat down.
“So you started investigating.”
“Yes.”
“You found the shipments.”
“Yes.”
“Why use my office?”
“Because Vincent watches me.”
“And you thought anything from my terminal would be taken seriously.”
“Yes.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Where is Vincent?”
“An old Vance property outside Lincoln.”
“How do you know?”
“Samuel took me there once.”
“Send me the address.”
“I already sent it to investigators.”
I froze.
“You contacted them?”
“Through Jonathan.”
So that was why Jonathan had been careful with his answers.
“Does Vincent know?”
“I don’t think so.”
Then Evelyn whispered:
“Baldric, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The flash drive isn’t what Vincent really wants.”
“What does he want?”
“You.”
I stood.
“Why?”
“Because Northstar is the last thing he needs.”
“For what?”
“To erase the trail.”
I stared at the wall.
“If you die and your emergency succession provisions trigger incorrectly, Vincent believes he can exploit the transition before your trustees lock everything down.”
“He can’t.”
“I know that.”
“Does he?”
“No.”
That was when I understood Vincent’s mistake.
He thought my companies still worked like Roger’s.
One man at the top.
Remove the man and everything becomes vulnerable.
But I had spent years building Northstar so it could survive without me.
My death wouldn’t give Vincent control.
It would lock him out permanently.
And he had no idea.
I looked toward the investigator approaching me.
“Evelyn gave you the location?”
He nodded.
“Teams are moving.”
“I want to help.”
“No.”
“You need the property layout.”
“We have aerial imaging.”
“You don’t have what Evelyn knows.”
“We’re speaking with her.”
I stopped arguing.
This time, I understood.
My job was not to play hero.
My job was to let trained people bring Roger and Noah home.
The next hour felt longer than the previous six years.
Then the call came.
“Mr. Baldric?”
“Yes.”
“We have Roger.”
I closed my eyes.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“And Noah?”
A pause.
My eyes opened.
“What happened?”
“He wasn’t at the property.”
“Vincent?”
“Gone.”
My stomach dropped.
“Where’s Noah?”
“We don’t know.”
Then my phone buzzed.
A photograph.
Noah.
Sitting in the back seat of a moving vehicle.
No visible injuries.
But terrified.
Vincent’s message appeared beneath it.
YOU SENT POLICE.
NOW YOU GET TO CHOOSE.
I stared at the screen.
Another message arrived.
THE DRIVE FOR THE BOY.
MIDNIGHT.
COME ALONE.
Then a location appeared.
I recognized it immediately.
The old Northstar freight yard.
The first property I had ever purchased.
The place where my entire company had begun.
I looked at the clock.
11:06 p.m.
Fifty-four minutes.
And then one final message appeared.
This one wasn’t from Vincent.
It was from Noah.
Only three words.
HE DOESN’T KNOW.
I stared at them.
Doesn’t know what?
Then a second message arrived.
I HAVE IT.
And attached was a photograph.
Noah’s bound hand.
Inside his palm was a tiny black flash drive.
I stopped breathing.
Arianne’s copy was never the only copy.
Noah had one too.
And Vincent had kidnapped the one person carrying the evidence he was willing to kill to destroy.
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