CHAPTER 3: THE DEVICE IN THE MEDAL CASE
The federal officers moved with terrifying speed.
One pulled the jury through a side door. Another forced everyone at the counsel tables to raise their hands and step against the wall. The shadow box was isolated beneath a portable containment shield brought up from courthouse security.
My mother began crying.
Not the delicate tears she had offered reporters.
These were panicked, gasping sobs.
“Someone is trying to kill us.”
Duane remained beside the witness stand.
“No one said it was explosive.”
“Then why are they treating it like a bomb?”
“Because we do not make assumptions when classified evidence is involved.”
Curtis looked at me.
“This is your fault.”
Even now, he could say it without hesitation.
I laughed once.
The sound was empty.
“You forged a will, accused me of federal crimes, turned our father’s funeral into a press conference, and somehow this is still my fault?”
“I did not plant anything.”
“Then you should be very interested in finding out who did.”
Victor Sloan stayed silent.
He stood near the wall with his hands visible, studying the officers, the exits, and the black folder on the evidence table.
He was not frightened.
He was calculating.
That frightened me more.
A bomb technician arrived eleven minutes later. He wore a heavy protective suit and moved toward the medal case while we waited behind the reinforced courtroom doors.
The device was discovered beneath the velvet lining.
It was smaller than a coin.
Not explosive.
Not even sophisticated by military standards.
But it transmitted location data every thirty seconds.
Duane spoke quietly to the lead federal agent, a woman named Nora Castillo.
She was compact, sharp-eyed, and had the unsettling calm of someone who had already imagined every way a room could turn violent.
Castillo approached the judge.
“The tracker was activated at 7:13 this morning.”
Holloway frowned.
“The evidence was stored in the district attorney’s secure room overnight.”
“Yes.”
“Then someone accessed it.”
“Or it was placed before your office received it.”
Holloway turned toward Sloan.
Sloan had delivered the medal case personally.
Daniel saw the same thing I did.
“Mr. Sloan,” he said, “who had custody of the display before it was submitted?”
Sloan remained composed.
“It was recovered from Captain Wright’s office at Titan Tactical.”
“By whom?”
“Corporate security.”
“Which security officer?”
“I would need to check.”
Castillo stepped in front of him.
“You’ll check now.”
Sloan’s eyes hardened.
“I am an attorney representing an interested party. You may direct your questions through counsel.”
“You are counsel.”
“Then I am invoking my right to remain silent.”
Curtis stared at him.
“Victor?”
Sloan did not respond.
The judge ordered the jury sequestered for the remainder of the day. Proceedings were suspended, but no one involved in the case was permitted to leave until federal agents completed preliminary interviews.
Elaine was escorted into a conference room.
Curtis went into another.
Sloan demanded separate counsel.
I remained in the courtroom with Daniel and Duane.
For the first time since the doors opened, I was alone with the man who had once known me better than anyone.
Duane rested both hands on his cane.
“You look like your father.”
“I used to think that was a compliment.”
“It still is.”
“You didn’t see what he allowed them to do.”
“He was sick.”
“He was afraid.”
Duane’s eyes softened.
“Those are not the same thing.”
I looked toward the shadow box now sealed inside a federal evidence container.
“My father knew they were stealing from Titan. He knew Curtis was moving money. He knew Elaine hated the will. Why didn’t he expose them before he died?”
Duane glanced at Daniel.
My attorney understood.
“I’ll give you privacy.”
When Daniel stepped into the hallway, Duane lowered himself into a chair.
“Your father did try to expose them.”
“When?”
“Three months before his diagnosis became public. He contacted me after finding a coded ledger inside Titan’s vendor system.”
“What kind of ledger?”
“Payments routed through shell companies tied to former defense officials.”
“Bribes?”
“Some. But not all.”
I sat across from him.
“What else?”
Duane looked toward the sealed doors.
“Titan Tactical manufactured components for battlefield communication systems. Your father discovered that Curtis had authorized altered firmware in several export units.”
“Altered how?”
“Hidden access channels.”
My stomach tightened.
“Back doors.”
“Yes.”
“That could expose troop locations.”
“Communications. Deployment patterns. Medical evacuation routes. Everything.”
I thought of Kandar Province.
Our aircraft had been struck minutes after transmitting on an encrypted extraction channel.
A channel no hostile force should have been able to locate.
“Was Titan equipment involved in our crash?”
Duane did not answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
My mouth went dry.
“You knew.”
“We suspected a compromised communication relay. We could never prove the source.”
“And now?”
“Your father’s ledger connected the altered firmware to Meridian Strategic Logistics.”
Curtis’s company.
I stood too quickly and the old scar along my ribs pulled tight.
“My brother helped expose our aircraft.”
“Curtis was twenty-two at the time. He may not have understood the end use.”
“He always understood money.”
“Rebecca—”
“Thirty-two civilians were on that aircraft. Sergeant Lewis died in my arms. You lost the use of your hand.”
“And you nearly burned alive.”
I turned away.
The courtroom blurred.
All those years, I had believed the ambush was war.
Tragic.
Brutal.
But impersonal.
Now the possibility of my own family’s involvement crawled beneath my skin.
“Who gave Curtis access to technology like that?”
Duane opened his mouth, but the door swung inward.
Agent Castillo entered.
“We have a problem.”
“What now?” I asked.
She placed a clear evidence bag on the table.
Inside was a small brass key.
“We found this sewn into the lining of Elaine Wright’s handbag.”
My mother’s initials were engraved on one side.
On the other was a number.
“What does it open?” Duane asked.
“We don’t know yet.”
Castillo placed a second bag beside it.
This one contained a photograph.
My father stood beside a storage unit, holding a newspaper dated four months before his death.
Across the bottom, in his handwriting, were seven words.
REBECCA—TRUST THE ONE WHO CARRIES THE SCAR.
Duane’s right hand curled involuntarily.
The burn scar across his knuckles caught the light.
“Your father sent that photograph to your mother?” I asked.
“No,” Castillo said. “We found it hidden beneath the false bottom of her purse.”
“Then she knew about the key.”
“And she lied about it during her interview.”
Daniel returned to the room.
His expression was grim.
“Curtis is asking for immunity.”
I looked toward the conference-room door.
“For what?”
“He claims Victor Sloan threatened him.”
Duane’s face became unreadable.
“Threatened him with what?”
Daniel glanced at me.
“With evidence proving Curtis was responsible for your father’s death.”
The room went silent.
My father had died from pancreatic cancer.
At least, that was what we had been told.
Daniel continued.
“Curtis says Sloan arranged the forged will, the criminal allegations, and the media campaign. In return, Curtis transferred control of Meridian to a private trust.”
“Who controls the trust?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“Convenient.”
“He also claims Sloan has been searching for something your father hid before he died.”
I looked at the brass key.
“Storage unit 314.”
Castillo nodded.
“We traced the manufacturer. The key belongs to a private facility forty minutes north of the city.”
Duane pushed himself upright.
“Then Sloan knows we’ll go there.”
“He probably tracked the medal case hoping it would lead him to whatever evidence the government released,” Castillo said. “Now that he knows the court has linked Meridian to the breach, he may assume the storage unit is exposed.”
“Can you secure it?”
“I’ve already sent a team.”
Her phone vibrated.
She read the message.
Then her expression changed.
“What?”
May you like
Castillo looked up.
“The storage facility is on fire.”
