It was sealed with an ordinary piece of tape.
"I received this three weeks ago."
I took it.
My name was written across the front.
Not Rachel's.
Mine.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph of a man standing beside a motorcycle.
He was older than the teenager in Marcus's photograph, but the resemblance was unmistakable.
Daniel Hale.
On the back, someone had written:
The boy you buried is not the only one who came back.
Below that was an address.
A small town in northern Vermont.
And a date.
Tomorrow.
I looked at the photograph.
"Who sent this?"
Rachel shook her head.
"It was delivered anonymously."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I was waiting until I knew whether it was real."
I studied the photograph again.
The motorcycle was an old red Honda.
Its registration plate was visible.
And standing behind Daniel was another person.
A woman.
I recognized her immediately.
My mother.
She looked younger, perhaps ten years younger than she did now.
She was smiling.
Her hand rested on Daniel's shoulder.
I turned toward her.
"Mom?"
She had returned to the kitchen without anyone noticing.
Her face was pale.
"Where did you get that?"
Rachel answered.
"It was sent to me."
Mom looked at the photograph.
Then she sat down.
"Daniel is alive," she whispered.
Dad closed his eyes.
Caleb looked at her.
"You knew?"
Mom nodded.
"I saw him."
"When?"
"Eight years ago."
The room erupted.
"Eight years?" I repeated.
Mom raised a hand.
"Please."
"You saw him eight years ago and never told us?"
"He begged me not to."
"Why?"
"Because he was being followed."
"By whom?"
Mom looked toward Dad.
"By the same people who had been looking for the drive."
Dad stood.
"That's enough."
"No," I said. "It isn't."
Mom's eyes filled.
"Daniel told me something that day. He said Marcus wasn't the person we needed to fear most."
I looked toward the photograph.
"Who was?"
Mom whispered a name.
"Harold."
I stared at her.
"Harold who?"
"Harold Keene."
Dad's expression changed.
Caleb looked at Marcus's photograph.
And suddenly I remembered the name.
Harold Keene had been an old associate of my father.
He was a businessman who owned several transportation companies and a chain of storage facilities.
He had attended charity events with our family.
He had donated equipment to the motorcycle club.
He had once paid for the roof repairs at our original garage.
But I hadn't seen him in years.
"What does Harold have to do with this?"
Mom looked at me.
"Everything."
She explained that Marcus had never been the true leader of the underground operation.
He had been an intermediary.
He provided vehicles, contacts, and safe locations.
But Harold controlled the larger network.
He had money.
Political connections.
Private security companies.
And influence over people who could make records disappear.
Marcus had started working for him after Daniel disappeared.
At first, he believed he was protecting his son.
Eventually, he realized he had helped create something far more dangerous.
He tried to leave.
Harold refused.
The stolen vehicles were only one small part of the operation.
The real business was the disappearance of people.
Some were criminals escaping prosecution.
Others were innocent individuals who had witnessed something they shouldn't have seen.
And some were children.
I felt sick.
"How many?"
Mom looked down.
"I don't know."
Dad spoke quietly.
"More than anyone should ever have to count."
I thought about Emma.
About her seven dollars.
Her faded backpack.
The way she had watched the bakery door.
I thought about how easily someone could have taken her.
And I understood that the little girl hadn't simply been looking for a place to hide.
She had been carrying a message from a world she should never have known existed.
"Then we're going after Harold," I said.
Dad immediately shook his head.
"No."
I turned toward him.
"Why?"
"Because he is not someone you confront without understanding what he can do."
"Then we understand him."
"You don't."
"Neither did you, apparently."
Dad looked wounded.
Caleb stood between us.
"Enough."
He turned toward Dad.
"Tell us what you know."
Dad sighed.
"Harold owns a property outside Burlington. It's an old transport depot. He uses it as a storage facility."
"Is Daniel there?"
"I don't know."
"Then why did the photograph have that address?"
Dad stared at the paper.
"Because that's where Daniel wanted us to go."
Mom shook her head.
"No."
Everyone turned toward her.
She pointed at the photograph.
"Look at the date."
I looked.
The date was eight years old.
The address had been written recently.
Someone had updated it.
Someone wanted us to go there.
And that meant someone knew we had discovered the photograph.
"Maybe it's a trap," I said.
Dad nodded.
"Exactly."
Caleb looked at the photograph again.
"Or maybe Daniel is trying to tell us something."
I looked at my brother.
"You're not going alone."
He gave a faint smile.
"I wasn't planning to."
The next morning, the Iron Brotherhood assembled at the original Maddox Garage.