Chapter 8: The Storage Unit
Northstar Logistics had once operated a fleet of trucks that transported medical supplies across three states.
According to the company's public filings, it had gone bankrupt after losing a major government contract.
According to the sealed financial records in Samuel Cross's possession, it had also received millions of dollars in unexplained payments from companies linked to Chief Daniels.
Amara remembered the name because it had appeared in a footnote in the original corruption case.
She had dismissed it as a minor subcontractor.
Now it was the address on a message promising evidence that a dead man might still be alive.
Brooks drove them toward an industrial park on the outskirts of Frederick.
The storage facility stood behind a chain-link fence topped with coils of razor wire. Most of the units were dark, but a fluorescent light glowed above the office.
“Stay behind me,” Brooks said.
Amara gave her a sideways glance.
“I've noticed you enjoy giving orders.””
“It's a professional habit.””
“Mine is asking why.””
Brooks almost smiled.
“Then ask why I brought backup.””
A second unmarked vehicle pulled in behind them.
Two agents stepped out and approached the office from opposite sides.
Brooks displayed her credentials to the manager, a thin man in a green sweater who looked increasingly uncomfortable.
“We're looking for Unit 214,” she said.
The manager examined the document she handed him.
“That's a private unit.””
“We have authorization to inspect it.””
“I can't open it without the renter's permission.””
Brooks pointed to the court order.
“Read the second paragraph.””
He did.
His face paled.
“Right. Of course.””
He led them down a corridor that smelled of dust and motor oil.
Unit 214 was near the rear of the building.
A heavy padlock hung from the latch.
The manager fumbled with his keys.
“It's been rented for six years. Paid in cash, mostly. The renter hasn't been here in months.””
“Name?”” Brooks asked.
“Thomas Bell.””
Amara and Brooks exchanged a glance.
The former deputy marshal had been standing outside Room Twelve only an hour earlier.
Brooks signaled to the agents behind them.
One photographed the lock while the other prepared a cutting tool.
Within seconds, the padlock fell to the concrete.
Brooks pulled the door upward.
Inside stood a metal desk, two filing cabinets, and several cardboard boxes stacked against the back wall. A portable lamp illuminated a small section of the floor.
There was no sign of the original death certificate.
Amara entered cautiously.
“Search everything.””
The agents spread out.
Brooks opened the first filing cabinet. It contained insurance documents and old vehicle registrations. The second held photographs, bank statements, and several sealed envelopes bearing federal case numbers.
Amara found a photograph tucked inside a manila folder.
It showed Samuel Cross standing beside a younger Daniel Price in front of a warehouse.
On the back, Samuel had written:
*THE NIGHT THEY CHANGED THE RECORD.*
Amara handed it to Brooks.
“Photograph this. Don't remove anything until we've documented it.””
Brooks nodded.
At the bottom of the folder lay a photocopy of a death certificate.
The name was Samuel Cross.
The date of death was four years earlier.
But the signature of the certifying physician looked wrong.
Amara held it beneath the lamp.
“This isn't a certified original.””
Brooks leaned closer.
“How can you tell?””
“The seal is reproduced, not embossed. And the physician's license number is missing.””
The agent photographed the document.
Then she noticed something else.
A handwritten notation in the corner:
*ORIGINAL — SAFE DEPOSIT 38.*
Amara turned the page over.
A bank name appeared at the bottom.
First National Trust.
The same institution where the Maple Creek robbery had occurred.
For several seconds, neither woman spoke.
Then Brooks's phone rang.
She answered.
“Brooks.””
The voice on the other end spoke quickly.
“Agent, we have a problem at the police department. Chief Daniels has been released.””
Brooks stiffened.
“Released by whom?””
“His attorney arrived with a state court order challenging the scope of the federal seizure. Local counsel says the order is invalid without a separate warrant for his personal records.””
Brooks closed her eyes.
“Who signed the release?””
A pause.
“Judge Harold Whitmore.””
Amara felt the blood drain from her face.
Harold Whitmore had been her mentor.
He had recommended her for the federal bench, supported her first major judicial appointment, and personally reassured her after Samuel Cross was declared dead.
He was also the man who had urged her to seal the Cross proceedings.
“Agent Brooks,” Amara said quietly, “we need to leave.””
Brooks lowered her phone.
“Why?””
“Because the judge who just released Daniels is the same judge who reviewed the original Cross investigation.””
Brooks stared at her.
“You said you signed the sealing order.””
“I did. But Whitmore approved the emergency transfer and certified that the witness-protection records had been reviewed independently.””
“You're saying he may be involved?””
“I'm saying he has information he never disclosed.””
A metallic clank sounded from the far end of the corridor.
The agents turned.
The storage facility's security gate was sliding shut.
The manager hurried toward it.
“Hey! You can't close that!””
A man appeared behind the office window.
He wore a dark jacket and held a phone to his ear.
Brooks drew her weapon.
“Federal agents! Step away from the controls!””
The man looked directly at her.
Then he smiled.
He pressed a button.
The overhead lights went out.
For several seconds, the corridor disappeared into darkness.
Someone shouted.
A heavy object struck the floor.
Amara heard footsteps running toward the exit.
“Brooks!””
“Stay where you are!””
A flashlight snapped on.
The agents moved toward the office, but the man had vanished through a side door.
The security gate began to rise again.
Brooks checked the corridor.
“Everyone accounted for?””
Two agents answered immediately.
The manager emerged from behind a cabinet, breathing hard.
Amara looked back at Unit 214.
The metal desk remained where it had been.
The filing cabinets stood open.
But the folder containing the photograph of Samuel and Daniel Price was gone.
So was the photocopy of the death certificate.
Someone had known exactly what they were looking for.
Brooks examined the broken latch on the rear door.
“They were watching us.””
Amara picked up a small object lying beside the desk.
A silver cuff link.
Its surface bore a tiny engraved emblem.
A pair of scales beneath a crown.
She had seen it before.
Harold Whitmore wore matching cuff links at every formal judicial function.
Amara turned it over.
On the back were two engraved letters.
*H.W.*
Brooks stared at the object.
“Could someone have planted that?””
“Yes.””
“Could it belong to him?””
“Yes.””
“Which answer do you believe?””
Amara slipped the cuff link into an evidence bag.
“I believe someone wants us to ask that question.””
Her phone vibrated.
An incoming call.
No caller identification.
She answered without speaking.
A familiar male voice came through.
“Amara, I hear you're making quite a mess of things.””
Her heart tightened.
“Judge Whitmore.””
“Please. Call me Harold.””
“I don't think we're on familiar terms anymore.””
He sighed.
“You've always been too suspicious for your own good.””
“And you've always been too comfortable telling me what I should believe.””
A pause.
Then Whitmore's voice lost its warmth.
“You need to stop looking for Samuel Cross.””
“Why?””
“Because the man you think you're saving isn't the man you remember.””
Amara gripped the phone.
“What does that mean?””
“It means Cross wasn't an innocent witness. He was involved in the scheme long before he agreed to testify.””
“Then why did you approve his protection?””
“Because we needed him alive.””
“Did you know he survived the fire?””
Silence.
“Harold?””
“You have one chance to walk away from this, Amara.””
She stared at the cuff link in the evidence bag.
“Is that a threat?””
“No,” Whitmore said.
“It's the last favor I'll ever be able to offer you.””
The call ended.
Brooks watched her.
“What did he say?””
Amara lowered the phone.
“He told me to stop looking for Samuel.””
“Did he admit anything?””
“No.””
“Then why do you look like that?””
Amara looked toward the darkened corridor.
“Because he didn't ask whether Samuel was alive.””
May you like
She swallowed.
“He already knows.””
