Then another message arrived.
A storage warehouse owned by the Whitmore Foundation was on fire.
My mother covered her mouth.
“No.”
“What was stored there?” Noah asked.
“Old records.”
Mercer looked at her sharply.
“What kind of records?”
“Original donor agreements. Board notes. Partnership files.”
“They’re destroying evidence,” Noah said.
Mom looked toward him.
“No.”
Noah frowned.
“What?”
“They’re destroying what they think is the evidence.”
The room became silent.
Mom opened her handbag.
Mercer stopped her immediately.
“Keep your hands where I can see them.”
She froze.
Then slowly removed only a small brass key.
“I made copies.”
My mouth fell open.
“Copies of what?”
“Everything.”
“Where?”
She looked at Mercer.
“A private document vault beneath Harbor Federal Bank.”
Noah suddenly turned away.
I saw the expression on his face.
“You know about it.”
He looked back at me.
“Yes.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course you do.”
“Evelyn—”
“You’ve apparently known everything except how to tell your fiancée the truth.”
“I was protecting you.”
“I am so tired of men using that sentence.”
He went silent.
Good.
Mercer took the key.
“What is inside the vault?”
Mom answered carefully.
“Contracts connecting Arthur’s companies to firms controlled by Reddick’s associates.”
“What else?”
“Payment ledgers.”
“What else?”
She hesitated.
“Audio recordings.”
Mercer’s expression sharpened.
“Of Senator Reddick?”
“Yes.”
Noah stepped forward.
“How did you get them?”
Mom stared at her hands.
“For fifteen years, Arthur held most of their meetings in our beach house.”
She gave a humorless laugh.
“He always assumed I was too stupid to understand business.”
“So you recorded them?”
“I started after I heard Malcolm say that a soldier’s widow was ‘too expensive to save.’”
The words hung in the room.
One of the veterans standing near the door looked away.
Mom continued.
“They were deciding which families received assistance based on whether helping them created good publicity.”
My stomach turned.
“They were using veterans for marketing?”
“Worse.”
Noah’s voice was flat.
“They were using desperate families to move money.”
Mercer nodded.
“Some grants were approved on paper but never reached recipients. The funds were redirected through subcontractors.”
I remembered every gala.
Every photograph.
Every speech my father had made about sacrifice.
I suddenly felt sick.
Mercer stood.
“We need those records.”
A federal agent interrupted.
“Sir, Senator Reddick’s plane departed Charleston Executive Airport forty minutes ago.”
“Destination?”
“Flight plan was filed for Nassau.”
Mercer swore.
Noah looked toward him.
“He’s running.”
“Maybe.”
Mercer studied the church map.
“Or he wants us to think he is.”
That was when the lights went out.
Paige screamed.
The office went black.
Someone outside shouted.
Then the emergency lights turned red.
Mercer pulled his weapon.
“Everyone against the interior wall.”
Noah moved in front of me.
A few seconds later, the radio came alive.
“Power failure only. Backup generator active.”
Mercer didn’t relax.
Someone had tampered with the external electrical panel.
The person responsible had disappeared.
“Who was guarding that side?” Mercer demanded.
The answer came back.
“Lieutenant Colonel Rachel Shaw.”
Mercer looked stunned.
“She’s gone?”
“No response on radio.”
Noah went pale.
“I know that name.”
“So do I,” Mom whispered.
I stared at them.
“Who is she?”
Noah answered.
“She testified in one of my cases.”
“Against who?”
“A defense contractor connected to Senator Reddick.”
Mercer’s expression hardened.
“Shaw wasn’t a witness.”
He looked toward the hallway.
“She was his insurance policy.”
