Chapter 8 - WHAT HAPPENED TO CALEB
The federal agents hated the plan.
Megan hated it too.
That was how I knew she had chosen it rather than been talked into it.
Sloan wanted to meet at a self-storage facility near Hartsfield-Jackson Airport.
Unit C-19.
Cameras.
Fences.
Hundreds of identical doors.
Bad location.
The FBI changed the meeting point without telling him.
They instructed Megan to call back and say Noah had a fever and she could not travel far.
Sloan agreed to a grocery-store parking garage five blocks from the secured apartment.
Better.
Not good.
There was no good.
I sat in a surveillance van two levels below.
Megan wore a wire.
Her attorney sat beside the supervising agent.
I hated every second.
“You can still stop this,” I said through her earpiece.
She stood near a concrete column wearing jeans, sneakers, and the green coat she had arrived at my estate in six weeks earlier.
“No.”
“That was predictable.”
“Then why ask?”
“Optimism.”
“You?”
“Fever damage.”
Her laugh came softly through my headset.
Then a black sedan entered the garage.
Every person in the van became still.
Sloan parked twelve spaces away.
He got out alone.
No visible weapon.
Marcus, stationed with tactical officers one level above, whispered through the radio.
“Visual.”
Sloan walked toward Megan.
He looked worse than the photographs.
Unshaven.
Eyes hollow.
His black-stone ring was gone.
“Megan.”
She did not move.
“Where is it?”
“What?”
“The recording.”
He looked around.
“You’re wired.”
Megan’s body went rigid.
I reached for the van door.
The supervising agent stopped me.
“Wait.”
“He knows.”
“He suspects.”
Sloan laughed without humor.
“Of course you are.”
Megan lifted her chin.
“Then leave.”
He stared.
“What?”
“If you came here to manipulate me, leave.”
“I came to confess.”
“Then the microphone saves time.”
Sloan looked almost impressed.
“I see why Mason likes you.”
My hand tightened.
Megan’s voice chilled.
“Do not talk about him.”
Interesting.
“Talk about Caleb.”
Sloan lowered his eyes.
“I was there.”
“At the accident.”
“Yes.”
“You stole something from him.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A leather document sleeve.”
“The account map.”
“Yes.”
“Did you hit him?”
“No.”
“Did you know he would be hit?”
Sloan said nothing.
Megan’s breathing changed.
“Look at me.”
He did.
“My husband died in the street while I was seven months pregnant.”
Her voice remained steady.
“Did you know he would be hit?”
“Yes.”
The word entered the van like a gunshot.
I closed my eyes.
Megan did not.
“Who ordered it?”
“Gordon.”
“Gordon Webb?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Caleb had a meeting with Dominic.”
“I know.”
“Gordon told me to intercept him before he reached the car service.”
“What were you supposed to do?”
“Take the documents. Scare him.”
“And the car?”
Sloan looked sick.
“That was backup.”
“Backup for what?”
“If he ran.”
Megan’s eyes filled.
“Caleb ran.”
“Yes.”
“He saw you.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He refused to hand over the sleeve.”
“What did you do?”
“I grabbed him.”
Sloan’s voice cracked.
“He hit me. Harder than I expected.”
A tiny, painful pride crossed Megan’s face.
“Good.”
Sloan nodded.
“Yes.”
“He ran toward the intersection.”
“And the driver?”
“Moved.”
“Moved?”
Megan’s voice sharpened.
“Use the word.”
Sloan looked at her.
“The driver hit him.”
“On purpose.”
“Yes.”
Megan’s knees seemed to soften.
But she stayed standing.
“Who was driving?”
“Samuel Price.”
Nathan’s brother.
The man seen with Raymond.
The man who attacked Vale’s clinic.
“Was Gordon there?” Megan asked.
“In a second car.”
“So he watched.”
“Yes.”
“What did he do after?”
“He took the document sleeve.”
Sloan reached inside his jacket slowly.
Agents shifted.
Megan did not.
He removed an old phone.
“I recorded him.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
“Play it.”
Sloan pressed the screen.
Audio filled the garage.
Wind.
Cars.
Then Gordon’s voice.
“You should have gotten the papers before Samuel moved.”
Sloan answered on the recording.
“You said stop him.”
“I did not say make a scene.”
“He’s dead.”
A pause.
Then Gordon:
“Then stop saying his name.”
Megan covered her mouth.
The recording continued.
Sloan asked, “What about the wife?”
Gordon answered:
“Pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“Dad says leave her alone unless she asks questions.”
Dad.
Elias.
My stomach turned.
Sloan asked, “And Mason?”
Gordon laughed softly.
“Dominic will never know Foster existed.”
The audio stopped.
Megan stood completely still.
Sloan looked at her.
“I’m sorry.”
She took one step forward.
Every agent tensed.
Then she slapped him.
The crack echoed through the garage.
Sloan accepted it.
“Good,” Megan said.
Her voice broke.
“That apology was for you.”
Then she stepped back.
“This is for Caleb.”
She pointed toward the cameras.
“You tell them everything.”
Sloan nodded.
“I will.”
“Not because you’re scared of Gordon.”
“Yes.”
“Not because Elias might kill you.”
“Yes.”
“Because my husband deserves his name in the record.”
Sloan looked down.
“Yes.”
“And Noah deserves to know his father did not abandon him.”
“Yes.”
Megan wiped her face.
“Then start talking.”
Agents moved in.
No dramatic arrest.
No gunfire.
Sloan placed his hands behind his head and surrendered.
I remained in the van until Megan came down.
The moment the door opened, I wanted to reach for her.
I stopped myself.
She noticed.
“Why are you sitting like a statue?”
“I was told not to decide for you.”
“That does not mean you cannot move.”
I opened my arms.
Megan crossed the space between us.
She sat beside my chair and buried her face against my shoulder.
I held her.
Not as employer.
Not as protector.
Not as the man half of Atlanta feared.
Just as someone who knew what it felt like to have a dead person suddenly become alive in a recording.
“He fought,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“He knew Noah was coming.”
“Yes.”
“He talked about him.”
“Yes.”
Her hands tightened against my shirt.
“I spent twenty months angry at him.”
I said nothing.
“I thought maybe he was involved in something dirty. I thought maybe he owed somebody money. I thought maybe I didn’t know my own husband.”
“You knew him.”
She cried harder.
I looked at the surveillance monitors.
Agents led Sloan away.
“Caleb was trying to reach me.”
“I know.”
“If I had known—”
“No.”
Megan lifted her head.
“No.”
“I could have—”
“You do not get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Turn Caleb’s death into another reason to punish yourself.”
I stared.
“That is rich from you.”
“What?”
“You have spent twenty months doing exactly that.”
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“We both stop.”
“That seems unrealistic.”
“Then we both try.”
I nodded.
“Acceptable.”
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then she looked at my mouth.
I noticed.
Her cheeks colored.
This was dangerous for reasons no gun had ever managed.
“Megan.”
“Yes?”
“You work for me.”
“I’m aware.”
“You are under my protection.”
“I hate that phrase.”
“You are financially vulnerable.”
Her expression cooled slightly.
“I hate where this is going.”
“I do too.”
I lowered my hand.
“Whatever this is, nothing happens while your paycheck depends on me.”
She stared.
“You think I’m trying to kiss you because of twenty-two dollars an hour?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I think I am in a position where even an honest yes from you could become complicated.”
Her anger softened.
Slowly.
“That was annoyingly responsible.”
“I am having a terrible month.”
She smiled.
Then looked away.
“What if I quit?”
“Do not quit to kiss me.”
She laughed.
“That is possibly the strangest sentence anyone has said to me.”
“Keep the job until you have another one.”
“Bossy.”
“Practical.”
She stood.
“Then I will find another one.”
Something in my chest shifted.
“That sounded like a threat.”
“Maybe it is.”
Her phone rang.
Nancy.
Megan answered.
“Is Noah okay?”
She listened.
Then smiled.
“Put him on.”
A toddler’s voice came through.
“Momma.”
Megan’s whole face changed.
“Hi, baby.”
Then Nancy spoke again.
Megan frowned.
“What?”
She put the call on speaker.
Nancy sounded frightened.
“Dominic needs to hear this.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Nathan came to the apartment.”
My body tightened.
“Security let him in?”
“Federal agents brought him.”
“Why?”
“He has something for you.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
Nathan’s voice came in the background.
“The original master ledger.”
I stared.
“Where did you get it?”
He answered through Nancy’s phone.
“Caleb mailed it to me the day before he died.”
Megan froze.
Nathan continued.
“I thought it was safer if everyone believed Gordon recovered the only copy.”
“Why wait until now?”
“Because the final page has a signature.”
My heartbeat slowed.
“Whose?”
“Elias Webb.”
Silence.
“And beside the signature?”
Nathan answered.
“A cross.”
The mark my father had warned me about.
Not Adrian Vale.
Elias.
The third man.
Nathan continued.
“There is more.”
“What?”
“The ledger does not only show theft.”
His voice dropped.
“It contains payments for Joseph Mason’s murder, Dominic’s truck crash, and Caleb Foster’s hit.”
Megan’s hand found the side of my chair.
Nathan said:
“You finally have enough to arrest all of them.”
For the first time in twenty years, revenge stood directly in front of me.
Documented.
Signed.
Possible.
May you like
And all I could think was that my father’s final letter had asked me not to become him just to avenge him.
The next decision would determine whether I had learned anything at all.
