Chapter 6 - The Million-Dollar Trap
For fourteen months, I had been trained to control my emotions.
Fear could expose an undercover agent.
Anger could destroy an investigation.
And panic could get someone killed.
But seeing my own name beside stolen money made my hands go cold.
"How much?" I asked.
Tamson looked at the screen.
"One million four hundred thousand dollars."
The account had been created using my real name, an old home address, and personal information taken from documents stored at my father's property.
A forged authorization appeared to identify me as the beneficiary of a fraudulent investment trust.
Someone was building a financial trail directly toward me.
"If that money moves, it could look like I participated in the scheme," I said.
Tamson nodded.
"Which is why you're stepping away from investigative decisions involving this account."
I stared at her.
"Tamson—"
"You're both an agent and a potential victim of identity fraud. We protect the integrity of the case by keeping those roles separate."
She was right.
I hated it anyway.
While financial specialists prepared emergency applications to preserve the suspicious funds, Tamson coordinated the arrests authorized by the existing federal warrants.
Marjorie was still standing outside my father's house.
She seemed to believe that if she argued long enough, everyone would eventually leave.
When Tamson approached with two agents, Marjorie straightened her blazer.
"I expect an apology."
Tamson remained calm.
"Marjorie Vance, you're under arrest pursuant to a federal warrant for conspiracy to commit wire fraud and related offenses."
Marjorie stared at her.
"You're joking."
"No, ma'am."
The agents secured her hands.
For the first time, the woman who had ordered my father handcuffed stood with her own wrists restrained.
She looked toward me.
"You think this is over?"
I said nothing.
She smiled faintly.
"Your father should have accepted my offer."
"What offer?"
"Thirty thousand dollars to walk away."
I felt my jaw tighten.
Marjorie leaned forward.
"Instead, he wanted to play hero. Just like your mother."
Tamson stepped between us.
"That's enough."
As the agents escorted Marjorie toward a vehicle, she turned her head.
"You have no idea how many people are involved, Agent Mercer."
Her words bothered me.
Not because they were threatening.
Because I believed them.
That evening, my father was temporarily relocated to a secure residence.
His home remained an active evidence location.
I found him sitting beside a window, holding a framed photograph of my mother.
"She would have been proud of you," he said.
I sat across from him.
"I'm not sure."
He looked surprised.
"Why?"
"Because I wasn't here when you needed me."
Dad shook his head.
"Your mother never measured love by how often someone walked through the door."
His eyes grew moist.
"She measured it by what they did when somebody needed help."
I looked away.
Then my phone vibrated.
It was the secure device I had used during the undercover operation.
Only a handful of people knew that number.
The message contained a photograph.
It showed me standing in my father's driveway that afternoon.
Underneath were seven words.
Welcome home, Evan. I know who you are.
May you like
Evan Cross was my undercover identity.
And the sender was Charles Reddick.
