Chapter 11 - Agent Keene
Keene drew her weapon.
Voss did not move.
“Explain.”
“Your father.”
Keene’s face changed.
“My father has been dead for twelve years.”
I almost laughed.
Nobody’s father stayed dead anymore.
Voss placed a file on the table.
Mara Keene’s father, Senator David Keene, had chaired the classified oversight committee investigating Cole Dynamics.
Officially, he died of a heart attack.
Unofficially, he had discovered the ledger.
“Mara,” Voss said, “your father was the person Mike contacted.”
Keene looked toward Michael.
Mike shook his head.
“I contacted someone claiming to represent him.”
Cole intercepted it.
But David Keene later discovered the operation anyway.
He began building a case.
Then died.
Keene had joined the FBI believing her father’s death natural.
Eleven months earlier, she discovered inconsistencies.
That was why she began watching me.
“You used me,” I said.
“Yes.”
At least she answered immediately.
“You thought I would lead you to Voss.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew my farm was connected?”
“Not until tonight.”
Voss shook his head.
“She’s still lying.”
Keene’s jaw tightened.
“What now?”
“You knew about Thomas.”
Silence.
I turned toward her.
“Mara?”
She looked at me.
“I knew your father might be alive.”
“How long?”
“Seven months.”
Something inside me broke.
“Everyone out.”
“Clayton—”
“Out.”
Voss remained.
“No.”
I looked at him.
He almost smiled.
“You always were terrible at giving orders when angry.”
I stepped closer.
“Try me.”
He left.
For several minutes I stood alone.
Farmer.
SEAL.
Son.
Husband.
Every identity felt manipulated.
Then Trent Larson called.
Of all people.
“I found Darren.”
“What?”
The marketing contact who had paid him.
“He came to my gym.”
“Call police.”
“I did.”
“Then why call me?”
“Because he said he knows where Cole took your father.”
I closed my eyes.
“Trent, do not play hero.”
“I’m not.”
That was new.
“He wants to trade information.”
“For?”
“You.”
Of course.
The meeting location was an abandoned grain elevator.
Federal agents prepared surveillance.
Voss insisted it was wrong.
“Cole doesn’t make direct trades.”
“He went to my farm.”
“Because he wanted cameras seeing him.”
“Why?”
“To establish a story.”
“What story?”
“That Nathan Cole is chasing you.”
“He is.”
Voss shook his head.
“No, Clayton.”
His eyes moved toward Keene.
“He wants the government focused on him while somebody else retrieves the ledger.”
“Who?”
Before Voss could answer, Rusty called.
His tavern had been broken into.
Nothing stolen.
Except one thing.
The livestream phone.
Keene froze.
“That phone had direct access to the shell-company server.”
Voss whispered:
“And the server knows where every payment went.”
Including the $2.4 million account opened under my name.
Then Rusty said:
“Clayton, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Security caught the thief.”
He sent the footage.
Walter Briggs walked calmly into the Iron Horse.
Took the phone.
May you like
Looked directly at the camera.
And smiled.
