Chapter 8 - THE EMPLOYEE WHO WAS ON BOTH SIDES.
Daniel Reed did not answer his phone.
He did not answer Emily’s messages.
By the next morning, his employee profile had disappeared from Mercer Development’s website.
Naomi noticed first.
“Could mean nothing.”
Blake looked at her across the hospital cafeteria table.
“You say that a lot.”
“Because a lot of things can mean nothing until they connect to something else.”
“You think he was fired?”
“I think his webpage is gone.”
Blake hated lawyers.
He was beginning to understand why good ones spoke that way.
Naomi continued.
“We do not contact Mercer directly about Daniel.”
“Why?”
“Because if they don’t know he spoke to Emily, we don’t tell them.”
“And if they do?”
“We still don’t tell them what we know.”
Blake drank coffee that tasted like burned cardboard.
Emily’s medical team wanted to operate again that afternoon.
A surgeon had explained it carefully.
There was a good chance she would walk.
There was also a long recovery.
Physical therapy.
Follow-up surgeries.
Possibly months before she could bear weight normally.
Blake had insurance through military benefits.
That helped.
It did not erase every cost.
Travel.
Home modifications.
Time off.
Specialist visits.
Equipment.
Things nobody thought about until life required them.
Emily had cried exactly once about money.
Not about pain.
Not about walking.
Money.
“I hate that this is what I’m thinking about,” she had said.
Blake understood.
People liked to say money did not matter when something serious happened.
That was usually said by people who had enough.
Naomi slid a printout across the cafeteria table.
“Daniel Reed was employed by Mercer for seven years.”
“Was?”
“LinkedIn says current. Company website says nothing.”
“Background?”
“Survey technician originally. Moved to acquisitions support.”
“That explains Parcel Seventeen.”
“Maybe.”
Blake studied the page.
Daniel was thirty-nine.
Married.
Two kids.
House in a subdivision outside Bellweather.
Ordinary.
No villain face.
No secret-agent biography.
Just a man with a mortgage and an employer.
“Why would he sign the boundary filing?”
“Could be routine.”
“Could he have manipulated it?”
“Could have. We don’t know.”
Blake set the paper down.
“He told Emily the documents were wrong.”
“Yes.”
“So either he discovered it—”
“Or knew earlier.”
“Or helped.”
“Yes.”
Blake looked toward the elevators.
“And now he’s gone.”
Naomi’s phone buzzed.
She read the message.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
“County clerk’s office.”
“Elaine?”
“No. Somebody filed a request for certified copies of Emily’s property research.”
Blake frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“When Emily requested certain county records, her request itself became public.”
“Who requested copies?”
Naomi turned the phone.
Morrison, Vale & Shaw.
Travis’s attorneys.
Blake pushed his chair back.
Naomi stopped him with a look.
“Sit down.”
“They’re building a list of everyone she looked at.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Could be preparing for litigation.”
“Against my wife.”
“Or preparing to defend against litigation from her.”
“She’s in surgery in three hours.”
“Courts do not pause because somebody is hurt.”
There was the class conflict again.
Emily was calculating whether the bathroom at home needed a temporary rail.
Mercer’s lawyers were calculating exposure.
Both were responding rationally to the same crisis.
Only one side could afford to turn the response into somebody’s full-time job.
Naomi leaned closer.
“That is why you cannot confront Travis.”
“I know.”
“You say that like you don’t.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
Blake’s phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
He answered.
No one spoke.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a man’s voice.
“Is Emily awake?”
Blake stood.
“Who is this?”
The caller hung up.
Blake immediately called back.
Disconnected.
Naomi watched him.
“What?”
He told her.
“Could be Daniel.”
“Could be anyone.”
“Yes.”
They returned upstairs.
Emily was being prepared for surgery.
Blake did not mention the call until after the nurse left.
Then Emily said, “Daniel.”
“You recognize the number?”
“No.”
“You think it’s him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He always asks whether I’m alone before talking.”
Blake looked at Naomi.
“That’s not what he asked.”
No.
He asked whether Emily was awake.
Emily stared at the ceiling.
“He’s scared.”
“Or checking.”
“Blake.”
“I’m not accusing him.”
“You’re thinking it.”
“Yes.”
Emily turned her face toward him.
“Daniel helped me.”
“Maybe.”
“He risked his job.”
“Maybe.”
She looked hurt.
Blake softened his voice.
“Em, he also appears on a document involving Parcel Seventeen. You were followed by an SUV that might match his. He disappeared after your crash.”
“He could be hiding.”
“Yes.”
“Because somebody knows.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you looking at him like he did this?”
“Because right now I have the luxury of not trusting anybody.”
Emily looked away.
That sentence sounded cruel.
He knew it the moment he said it.
Before he could fix it, an orderly arrived.
Surgery.
Blake kissed Emily’s forehead.
“I’ll be here.”
She held his wrist.
“Don’t let them take the recorder.”
“No one’s taking anything.”
Her grip tightened.
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
The operating-room doors closed behind her.
Blake stood in the hallway with Naomi.
His phone buzzed again.
This time a text.
Unknown number.
One sentence.
CHECK THE RECORDER BATTERY COMPARTMENT.
Blake froze.
Naomi read over his shoulder.
“Who knows you have it?”
“Emily. You. Ruth. Maybe Travis saw it.”
“And Daniel.”
Blake removed the recorder from the evidence pouch.
Naomi immediately stopped him.
“Photograph first.”
They documented every angle.
Then Blake slid open the battery compartment.
Two batteries.
Nothing else.
He looked at Naomi.
“Maybe somebody’s playing games.”
“Take them out.”
He did.
Behind the second battery was a tiny folded piece of paper.
Blake stared.
Naomi put on gloves before unfolding it.
Three handwritten characters.
C-17.
And beneath them, a street address.
Naomi searched it.
Her expression changed.
“What is it?”
She turned the screen.
The address belonged to an abandoned title office less than a mile from the courthouse.
A company had operated there until eighteen months earlier.
Bellweather Land Services LLC.
The company that had owned Parcel Seventeen before transferring it to Mercer.
Then another message arrived.
May you like
Same unknown number.
DON’T GO THERE ALONE.
