His father had been part of Thomas's team.
The notebook contained a note.
Samuel knows what happened. He refused to sign the false report.
Grant sat down.
"My father never told me."
"He may not have been able to."
Evelyn turned the page.
A second note.
If I disappear, contact Samuel Mercer. If Samuel is gone, find his son.
Grant stared at his father's name.
His father had died when Grant was nineteen.
Twenty-seven years ago.
Before Thomas's death.
Before Northstar.
Before the property dispute.
Grant suddenly understood.
Thomas had been building a case for decades.
And he had trusted Grant's father.
Maybe he had trusted Grant too.
But why?
Evelyn opened another envelope.
Inside was a cassette tape.
A handwritten label:
SAMUEL — LAST INTERVIEW.
Marcus found an old cassette player in the workshop.
They inserted the tape.
Static filled the room.
Then a man's voice.
Grant recognized it immediately.
His father.
Older.
Tired.
Frightened.
"I don't know how long I have."
Grant closed his eyes.
Samuel continued.
"The company buried waste near the old quarry. They told us it was harmless. It wasn't."
A cough.
"We found it moving into groundwater."
Another cough.
"Thomas wanted to report it."
A long silence.
"They threatened him."
Grant's hands tightened into fists.
Samuel continued.
"Harold Vale offered me money."
Grant looked at the photograph of Adrian's father.
"I refused."
Then came the sentence that changed everything.
"Three days later, my supervisor died in what they called an accident."
The tape clicked.
Silence.
Then Samuel whispered,
"If anything happens to me, Thomas knows."
The tape ended.
Grant remained motionless.
Doc placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry."
Grant nodded.
"Me too."
Outside, headlights appeared.
Several vehicles.
Marcus looked through the window.
"More of them."
Grant stood.
"How many?"
"Four trucks."
Evelyn looked frightened.
Grant's expression became cold.
"Everyone stays inside."
The vehicles stopped outside.
Men climbed out.
Adrian Vale walked toward the house.
This time he wasn't smiling.
He reached the porch.
"Mrs. Carter."
Grant opened the door.
"Mr. Vale."
Vale looked past him.
"You found something."
Grant said nothing.
Vale's eyes moved toward the workshop.
Then toward the creek.
"You have no idea what you're involved in."
Grant stepped onto the porch.
"You're right."
He looked directly into Vale's eyes.
"I just learned my father was involved."
Vale went pale.
Only for a second.
But Grant saw it.
"You knew my father."
Vale said nothing.
Grant continued.
"Samuel Mercer."
Vale swallowed.
"I knew of him."
"Did you know he refused your father's money?"
"My father died years ago."
"That's not an answer."
Vale stepped closer.
"You should leave."
"Why?"
"Because this isn't your fight."
Grant smiled without humor.
"It became my fight twenty-seven years ago."
Vale's men moved forward.
Doc and Marcus stepped beside Grant.
Vale stopped them with one hand.
"No."
He looked at Grant.
"Not tonight."
Then he turned.
Before leaving, he said:
"Tomorrow morning, the county will issue an emergency possession order."
Grant watched him walk away.
Evelyn whispered,
"Can they do that?"
"Not legally."
"But they'll try."
Grant looked toward the darkness beyond the creek.
Then at the red notebook.
"No."
He closed the door.
"We're going to find the rest of Thomas's evidence before they do."
They searched the farmhouse until nearly midnight.
The red notebook contained references to a "second archive."
Grant believed Thomas had hidden it somewhere inside the house.
Marcus examined the walls.
Doc checked the basement.
Owen searched the attic.
Nothing.
Then Owen shouted.
"Found something!"
Everyone ran upstairs.
He stood beside an old wooden wardrobe.
"There's a gap behind this."
Marcus moved the wardrobe.
Behind it was a narrow door.
Evelyn stared.
"That wasn't there when we moved in."
"It was probably hidden," Grant said.
The door had no handle.
Marcus found a small latch.
It opened.
Beyond it was a narrow staircase.
They descended.
The room below was barely large enough for six people.
Shelves covered every wall.
Boxes filled them.
Documents.
Photographs.
Hard drives.
Old newspapers.
Laboratory samples.
Grant stared.
"This is an archive."
Evelyn began crying.
"He built this."
Marcus nodded.
"He knew."
On the center table sat a sealed envelope.
It contained a list of names.
At the top:
PEOPLE WHO KNOW.
There were twelve names.
Six were crossed out.
Three had handwritten notes beside them.
Two were marked DECEASED.
One was marked MISSING.
The final name was not crossed out.
MARTIN HALE — FEDERAL ENVIRONMENTAL INVESTIGATOR.
Grant looked at Evelyn.
"Do you know him?"
"No."
Marcus found a phone number.
They called.
A man answered.
"Hello?"
Grant introduced himself.
"My name is Grant Mercer."
Silence.
Then:
"Samuel's son?"
Grant froze.
"Yes."
The man's voice changed.
"I wondered when you'd call."
"You knew my father?"
"I knew Thomas."
"Did Thomas send you the evidence?"
"Some of it."
"How much?"
"Enough to know Northstar is committing fraud."
Grant looked at the others.
"Can you help us?"
Martin Hale sighed.
"Not unless you can prove chain of custody."
"How?"
"Original samples. Original records. Witness testimony."
Grant looked at the shelves.
"We have all three."
Silence.
Then Hale said,
"Do not trust the county courthouse."
"Why?"
"Because someone inside has been removing records."
Grant's jaw tightened.
“Who?”
Hale was silent for several seconds.
“I don't know.”
The answer seemed to make the room colder.
Grant stared at the phone in his hand as though the device itself had betrayed him.
“Then how do we fight them?”
“We don't fight them the way they expect.”
“How, then?”
“Get the evidence out of the county.”
Grant looked toward the kitchen table.
The red notebook was still there.
It looked almost absurdly ordinary.
A cheap notebook with a faded cover, slightly bent corners, and several pages stained by age. Anyone walking into the farmhouse would have mistaken it for an old household ledger or a collection of grocery lists.
But Grant knew better.
That little notebook had already exposed enough secrets to put powerful men in prison.
And apparently, it wasn't even the most dangerous piece of evidence Thomas had hidden.
“Where?” Grant asked.
“Federal investigators.”
Grant rubbed his forehead.
“Can you come here?”
“I can be there tomorrow morning.”
Grant looked at the clock on the wall.
12:43 a.m.
“Tomorrow morning?”
“If I leave now.”
Grant's eyes moved toward the dark windows.
Outside, the farmhouse sat beneath a moonless sky. The wind moved through the trees with a low, restless whisper. The property looked peaceful.
It wasn't.
Not anymore.
“Do it,” Grant said.
Hale paused.
“Grant.”
“Yes?”
“If Thomas left you something else, find it before Northstar does.”
Grant's eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“A ledger.”
Grant glanced at the red notebook.
“We found one.”
“No.”
Hale's voice became serious.
“Thomas mentioned a second ledger.”
Grant felt something tighten inside his chest.
“What was in it?”
“Payments.”
“To whom?”
“Judges. Inspectors. Officials.”
Grant stopped breathing for a moment.
He looked across the room at Evelyn.
She was sitting silently in an old wooden chair, her cane resting against one leg. She couldn't hear every word of the conversation, but she could see Grant's expression.
She knew something had changed.
Grant lowered his voice.
“Where is it?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why are you telling me about it?”
“Because Thomas told me one thing.”
“What?”
“He said the ledger would be where the first lie began.”
Grant frowned.
“The first lie?”
“Yes.”
“What did he mean?”
“I never had the chance to ask him.”
There was another pause.
Then Hale said quietly,
“You know Thomas better than most people ever did. Think.”
The call ended.
Grant slowly lowered the phone.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
The room seemed frozen.
The refrigerator hummed.