Chapter 2 - THE ATTACK IN THE DARK
Glass sprayed across the lobby as a black pickup truck smashed through the station’s front entrance.
The impact hurled chairs across the floor and crushed the metal security barrier beneath its front bumper.
“Down!” I shouted.
I pushed my father and the nearest paramedic behind the heavy reception counter just as the truck’s headlights flooded the darkened room.
The engine roared.
The driver reversed several feet, grinding broken glass beneath the tires.
Then the passenger door opened.
A masked figure stepped out holding a shotgun.
This was not an attempt to rescue Vanessa.
It was an attempt to silence someone.
The emergency lights flickered on, bathing the station in red.
The masked attacker swung the shotgun toward the interview-room hallway.
I grabbed the paramedic’s metal equipment case and threw it.
The case struck the attacker’s forearm just as the weapon fired.
The blast tore into the ceiling.
Dust and plaster rained down.
Officers drew their weapons.
“Drop it!”
The attacker fired again, this time toward the front desk.
I pulled Dad lower as pellets struck the counter above us.
The masked figure retreated behind the truck.
The driver accelerated.
The pickup lurched backward through the destroyed entrance, dragging part of the security frame with it.
An officer fired at the tires.
One rear tire burst, but the truck kept moving.
It fishtailed across the parking lot, struck a patrol car and disappeared onto the road in a shower of sparks.
Silence lasted less than a second.
Then the station erupted.
Radios crackled.
Officers shouted descriptions.
The fire alarm screamed overhead.
The sergeant crawled toward the front windows and looked outside.
“Black Ford pickup. Rear passenger tire damaged. Two suspects, possibly more.”
I turned toward Dad.
“Are you hit?”
He shook his head, breathing rapidly.
The paramedic checked him while I looked toward the interview rooms.
Vanessa stood behind the reinforced glass door, both hands pressed against it.
She appeared terrified.
Ethan was no longer visible.
“Where’s my brother?”
Officer Davis emerged from the hallway, gripping his bleeding forehead.
“His room is empty.”
My stomach tightened.
“Was he handcuffed?”
“No. He was being treated as a witness.”
We ran to the room.
A ceiling panel hung open above the table.
Ethan had climbed into the maintenance space during the blackout.
On the floor lay a single expensive cuff link shaped like a compass.
I had seen it earlier on his sleeve.
“He knew the power would fail,” I said.
The sergeant looked toward Vanessa.
“So did she.”
Vanessa began pounding against the glass.
“I want a lawyer!”
“You’re going to get one,” the sergeant replied. “After you explain why armed men attacked a police station minutes after officers found stolen property in your purse.”
“I don’t know anything about armed men.”
I stepped close to the glass.
“But you know what’s in the quarry safe.”
Her face hardened.
That was answer enough.
Dad was transported to the hospital under police protection. I followed in an unmarked sedan while detectives began searching for Ethan and the damaged truck.
At the emergency room, doctors found two cracked ribs, severe dehydration and traces of a sedative in Dad’s blood.
The drug was normally prescribed for insomnia.
Dad had never suffered from insomnia.
While he slept, I sat beside his bed and studied the number engraved on the watch.
9-4-1-7-2-6.
Too long for most safe combinations.
It might have been a date.
September 4, 1972, perhaps.
But Dad had called it a code.
At dawn, a hospital security officer knocked on the door.
“There’s a woman downstairs claiming she’s Mr. Mercer’s attorney.”
“Name?”
“Lydia Crane.”
I knew that name.
Lydia was the estate attorney Ethan had recommended six months earlier.
She entered wearing a cream-colored suit and carrying a leather briefcase. Her hair was perfectly arranged despite the early hour.
“Agent Mercer,” she said. “I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances.”
“Are you?”
Her professional smile tightened.
“I represent your father’s legal interests.”
“My father is unconscious and may have been drugged into signing documents.”
“That is a serious accusation.”
“It’s a serious morning.”
Lydia placed her briefcase on a chair.
“Your father executed a durable power of attorney three weeks ago. He named Ethan as his financial representative and Vanessa as his healthcare proxy.”
“Under what medical assessment?”
“Dr. Raymond Cole determined that your father was experiencing cognitive decline.”
“Where was the examination conducted?”
“At his home.”
“While he was under the influence of sedatives?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
I stepped closer.
“You should.”
Lydia’s eyes shifted toward the sleeping figure in the bed.
“He signed voluntarily.”
“Then you won’t mind turning over the original documents and the full recording of the signing.”
“There is no recording.”
“Convenient.”
She snapped the briefcase closed.
“I came here to inform you that you have no authority to interfere with Ethan’s management of the estate.”
“My authority is irrelevant. The evidence isn’t.”
Lydia moved toward the door.
I caught sight of something near the bottom of her briefcase.
A streak of dried red clay.
“Were you at the quarry last night?”
She froze.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I blocked the doorway.
“I’m talking about the same clay on Vanessa’s boots.”
“You are threatening an attorney.”
“No. I’m asking why an estate attorney visited an abandoned quarry hours before her client was attacked.”
Lydia’s composure cracked.
She shoved the briefcase into my chest and tried to force past me.
I caught the handle.
For several seconds, we struggled.
The latch tore open.
Documents, folders and a small laptop spilled onto the floor.
Lydia dropped to her knees, desperately grabbing for one particular envelope.
I reached it first.
It was addressed to the Marion County Probate Court.
Inside was a petition declaring my father legally incapacitated.
The document claimed he suffered from severe dementia, violent episodes and paranoid delusions.
A hearing was scheduled for that morning.
In less than three hours.
The petition would allow Ethan and Vanessa to seize control of everything before my father could speak.
Lydia snatched the paper from my hand.
“This is confidential.”
“It’s also fraudulent.”
She slapped me.
The blow snapped my head sideways.
Before I could respond, hospital security entered.
Lydia immediately changed tactics.
“She attacked me!”
I touched my cheek and almost laughed.
It was the same performance Vanessa had used.
The same lie.
The same confidence that accusation mattered more than evidence.
Unfortunately for Lydia, a security camera was mounted directly above the door.
“Preserve the footage,” I told the officer.
Lydia’s face went white.
She backed toward the hallway.
Then Dad’s voice came from the bed.
“Lydia.”
We turned.
My father was awake.
He looked weak, but his eyes were clear.
“You told me those papers were for home nursing care.”
Lydia stared at him.
He slowly pointed at her briefcase.
“She brought Ethan the pills.”
Security detained Lydia while detectives arrived.
Inside her laptop, investigators found files connected to more than my father’s estate.
There were dozens of elderly clients.
Properties transferred.
Accounts emptied.
Medical declarations signed by the same physician.
Dr. Raymond Cole.
This was bigger than one family.
It was an organized operation.
Before officers took Lydia away, she leaned close to me.
“You think Ethan is the one running this?”
Her voice was barely audible.
“He isn’t.”
“Who is?”
She smiled without warmth.
“Ask your father why the quarry closed.”
Then she was gone.
I looked at Dad.
He had heard her.
Fear filled his face.
“Dad?”
He gripped the blanket.
“I thought they were all dead.”
“Who?”
May you like
He looked toward the window as if expecting someone to be standing outside.
“The men we buried there.”
