The old clock ticked.
Outside, wind pushed against the windows.
Grant stared at the red notebook.
“The first lie,” he whispered.
Evelyn suddenly spoke.
“The old quarry.”
Everyone turned toward her.
Grant stared.
“What?”
“The old quarry.”
Her voice was quiet but certain.
“Thomas always said the whole story began there.”
Grant looked at Marcus, then at Owen, Doc, Ray, and Victor.
The six men had spent the past several weeks uncovering pieces of a conspiracy that had been buried for decades.
They had expected secrets.
They had expected corruption.
They had even expected violence.
But none of them had expected the story to lead back forty years.
Grant stood.
“Then that's where we're going.”
Evelyn immediately reached for her cane.
“No.”
Grant looked at her.
“You're staying here.”
She shook her head.
“I know that quarry better than you.”
“You're not going.”
“I didn't ask permission.”
Grant sighed.
Evelyn's eyes hardened.
It was an expression he had learned to recognize.
She might have been elderly.
She might have walked with a cane.
She might have lived alone for years.
But there was nothing fragile about Evelyn.
She had survived too much to be treated like glass.
Still, Grant shook his head.
“No.”
Evelyn stared at him.
“You're beginning to sound like Thomas.”
Grant stopped.
That sentence hit him harder than he expected.
Evelyn saw it.
Her expression softened.
“I'm not saying you shouldn't protect me,” she said. “I'm saying you should remember that I know what we're fighting.”
Grant looked away.
Finally, he nodded.
“Fine.”
Evelyn smiled faintly.
“But you stay behind us.”
“Of course.”
Marcus grabbed his jacket.
“We should move.”
Nobody argued.
The old quarry was six miles from Evelyn's property.
Nobody had used it in decades.
The road leading there had almost disappeared beneath weeds and young trees. Once, trucks had traveled that road day and night, carrying stone from the massive quarry to construction sites across the county.
Now, the place was almost completely forgotten.
Almost.
Grant drove first.
The headlights of his truck swept across the narrow road.
Branches scraped against the sides.
The farther they went, the darker it became.
Evelyn sat beside him.
She stared through the windshield.
“I haven't been here in twenty years.”
“Why did Thomas keep talking about it?”
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she said,
“Because he believed that was where everything started.”
“What happened there?”
“A man died.”
Grant looked at her.
“Who?”
“A worker.”
“What was his name?”
“Daniel Mercer.”
Grant frowned.
“The same Mercer whose tape we found?”
Evelyn nodded.
“His father.”
Grant tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn't know if it mattered.”
“It matters now.”
“I know.”
The truck continued through the trees.
Finally, the quarry appeared.
It was enormous.
A black bowl carved into the earth.
Jagged stone walls rose on every side, disappearing into darkness.
At the bottom stood the remains of an abandoned concrete building.
Grant stopped near the entrance.
The Iron Wolves climbed out.
The night air smelled of wet stone and pine.
Marcus looked around.
“Anybody else think this place looks like the beginning of a horror movie?”
Owen gave him a look.
“You always say that.”
“Because I'm usually right.”
Doc checked his flashlight.
Ray looked toward the tree line.
Victor said nothing.
Grant turned toward Hale.
The federal investigator had arrived separately.
He stood beside an unmarked SUV, his gray hair moving in the wind.
He was sixty-one, thin, serious, and carried himself with the calm of a man who had spent decades walking into dangerous rooms.
He held up his identification card.
Grant nodded.
“You made good time.”
“I didn't stop.”
Hale looked at Evelyn.
“So you're Evelyn.”
She studied him.
“You knew Thomas.”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
“Well enough to know he didn't trust easily.”
Evelyn's expression softened.
“He didn't.”
Hale looked toward the quarry.
“Then let's find out what he was protecting.”
They entered the abandoned building.
The smell hit them immediately.
Damp concrete.
Rust.
Mold.
Old chemicals.
Grant swept his flashlight across the walls.
Rusted machinery sat beneath layers of dust.
Pipes hung from the ceiling.
Broken containers lay scattered across the floor.
Hale moved slowly.
He wasn't looking at the walls.
He was looking at the floor.
Grant noticed.
“What are you searching for?”
“Something that doesn't belong.”
They walked deeper inside.
The building was larger than it appeared from outside.
There were several rooms.
Old offices.
Storage areas.
A laboratory.
A loading bay.
Finally, Hale stopped.
“Here.”
Grant looked down.
A rectangular section of concrete stretched across the floor.
It was darker than the surrounding slab.
Marcus crouched.
“This was poured later.”
Hale nodded.
“Much later.”
Grant looked at him.
“You're sure?”
“I've seen this before.”
Marcus found a crowbar.
He wedged it beneath the edge.
“Everybody stand back.”
He pulled.
The concrete cracked.
The sound echoed through the building.
He pulled again.
A section lifted.
Underneath was a narrow cavity.
And inside the cavity sat a metal box.
Nobody spoke.
Grant crouched.
The box was old.
Its surface was covered in rust.
A small lock had been broken long ago.
He lifted the lid.
Inside were documents.
Hundreds of them.
Some were wrapped in plastic.
Others were sealed in envelopes.
And beneath everything lay a red ledger.
Grant reached for it.
Hale stopped him.
“Gloves.”
Grant nodded.
He put on a pair.
Then carefully lifted the ledger.
It was heavier than it looked.
He opened the cover.
The first page contained a date.
Forty years earlier.
Below it was a name.
A county inspector.
Beside the name was a dollar amount.
Grant turned the page.
Another name.
A state laboratory director.
Another page.
A judge.
Another.
A sheriff.
The list continued.
Year after year.
Payment after payment.
Grant's hands began to shake.
Marcus leaned over his shoulder.
“Oh, hell.”
Hale took a photograph.
“Don't touch anything unnecessarily.”
Grant kept turning pages.
There were notes in the margins.
Initials.
Meeting dates.
Property numbers.
References to environmental reports.
Some names had been crossed out.
Others had stars beside them.
Near the middle of the book, Grant found several pages marked with a single word.
NORTHSTAR.
His stomach dropped.
Northstar hadn't created the corruption.
It had inherited it.
The company wasn't merely involved in a new scheme.
It had been built on an old one.
Grant whispered,
“This is enough to destroy them.”
Hale looked at him.
“If it's authenticated.”
Grant looked down.
“How do we authenticate something like this?”
“Chain of custody. Forensic examination. Handwriting analysis. Financial records. Cross-reference the payments.”
“And if the names are real?”
“Then we don't have a story.”
Hale closed the ledger.
“We have evidence.”
A sound came from outside.
An engine.
Everyone froze.
Then another.
Grant looked toward the entrance.
“How many?”
Marcus listened.
“Three.”
Victor moved toward the wall.
Ray extinguished his flashlight.
The building fell into darkness.
Another engine appeared.
Then another.
Grant's heart began beating faster.
“They found us.”
Hale looked at him.
“How?”
Marcus whispered,
“Someone followed us.”
Grant's mind raced.
Only a handful of people knew where they were going.
Someone had talked.
Or someone had been watching.
Headlights appeared through the broken windows.
The Iron Wolves moved without being told.
They didn't draw weapons.
They didn't need to.
They positioned themselves between the entrance and the others.
Six men.
Six silhouettes.
The first vehicle stopped outside.
Doors opened.
Men stepped out.
Grant counted eight.
Then ten.
Then more.
They were not police.
They wore dark jackets.
No insignia.
No identification.
Hale whispered,
“Northstar security.”
Grant looked at the ledger.
“Can we get out another way?”
Hale nodded.
“There should be a service tunnel behind the laboratory.”
“Should be?”