Chapter 10 - THE MAN WITH THE GOLD WATCH
Special Agent Victor Harlan had shaken my hand less than forty-eight hours earlier.
He'd stood outside Harbor House discussing the financial investigation.
He'd assured me the authorities were following procedure.
He'd worn a polished gold wristwatch.
And he'd looked me directly in the eyes without betraying the slightest sign of what he might be hiding.
Now he was in Canada, attempting to interfere with a frightened witness.
I was beginning to understand why betrayal hurt differently from ordinary danger.
An enemy could threaten you openly.
A traitor learned your trust before deciding how to use it.
Daniel met me and Maya at the federal building that afternoon.
He looked angrier than I'd ever seen him.
“Harlan was part of a related financial enforcement task force,” he explained. “He had access to some of the shared investigative material.”
“Was he authorized to travel?”
“Not for this purpose.”
“What did he do at the hospital?”
“He identified himself as an American federal agent and demanded access to your brother's room.”
“Did they let him in?”
“Canadian officers questioned his authority. He couldn't produce documentation establishing a lawful transfer of custody.”
I exhaled slowly.
“So Evan is safe?”
“He's receiving medical care under Canadian protection.”
“What about Harlan?”
Daniel folded his hands.
“He was detained for questioning. There are now serious concerns about attempted witness interference.”
I looked at Maya.
She understood the question forming in my mind.
“If Harlan's compromised,” she said, “we have to consider whether someone has used privileged information to influence the investigation.”
Daniel nodded.
“That's exactly what we're doing.”
My stomach tightened.
“What information did he have about me?”
“Some financial documents. Witness information. Internal discussions relevant to the fraud inquiry.”
“Did he know about the convoy?”
Daniel hesitated.
“He had access to portions of the material.”
I felt cold.
For weeks, I'd been trying to discover who had betrayed me.
Now I knew at least one person inside the investigation had apparently been working against us.
“How long?” I asked.
“We don't know yet.”
“And how much damage has he done?”
“We're establishing that.”
It wasn't the answer I wanted.
But it was the only honest one.
Daniel continued.
“Canadian authorities are securing evidence connected to Harlan's activities. We'll pursue the appropriate legal process on our side.”
I leaned forward.
“Did he try to take Evan because of the records?”
“That's our working concern.”
The meeting ended with another warning.
I was not to contact Harlan.
I was not to confront Mercer.
And I was certainly not to attempt to reach Evan outside arrangements made through counsel and law enforcement.
I agreed.
Not because I wasn't furious.
Because every reckless decision I made could endanger someone else.
That evening, I called Mateo.
He answered while helping Sofia with homework.
“Colonel Ellison,” he said. “To what do we owe the honor?”
I smiled despite myself.
“You sound like Lena.”
“I'm trying to become annoying enough to replace her.”
“You have a long way to go.”
He laughed softly.
Then his voice grew serious.
“How are you holding up?”
I looked around the hotel room.
My clothes were still inside my suitcase.
I'd been too distracted to unpack.
“Some days better than others.”
“Any news?”
“Investigators are following more leads.”
“About Lena?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
Mateo didn't ask for details I couldn't share.
He'd learned that patience from years of military family life.
Instead, he said:
“Sofia asked about you today.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did she say?”
“She wanted to know whether you were still sad.”
My throat tightened.
“What did you tell her?”
“That you miss her mother.”
Mateo paused.
“And that being sad doesn't mean you stop living.”
I stared at the ceiling.
Lena would have loved that answer.
“Tell Sofia I'm doing my best.”
“I will.”
Before we ended the call, Mateo mentioned something remarkable.
Residents from Harbor House had begun organizing.
A local church offered temporary storage for families facing eviction.
A veterans' organization arranged emergency transportation.
Several businesses donated groceries.
A retired attorney volunteered to assist the nonprofit's legal team.
People who had never met one another were working together because thirty-two families needed help.
I felt something loosen inside me.
My parents had spent years convincing themselves that money was the measure of success.
Yet ordinary people with far less were demonstrating a kind of wealth my family had never possessed.
Generosity without an audience.
Loyalty without a transaction.
Help without a hidden price.
The next morning, Maya called with another update.
The court had granted a temporary stay preventing immediate removal of Harbor House residents while the disputed ownership and financial issues were reviewed.
I closed my eyes.
“Thank God.”
“It's temporary,” she reminded me.
“I know.”
“But the families can remain while their lawyers continue the fight.”
For the first time since returning home, I felt hope.
Then Daniel called.
The hope vanished almost immediately.
“We've received additional information from the Canadian investigation,” he said.
“About Harlan?”
“Yes.”
I sat down.
“Tell me.”
“Authorities found communications connecting him to a Riverstone intermediary.”
“Mercer?”
“Through an intermediary, yes.”
“Was he being paid?”
“Investigators believe so.”
I stared at the wall.
A federal agent.
Paid to obstruct an investigation into stolen government funds.
Paid to help the people who had stolen my identity.
“What else?”
Daniel's voice lowered.
“There's a photograph associated with the communications.”
“Of what?”
“Your convoy.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“After the attack?”
“No.”
I gripped the phone.
“Before?”
“Yes.”
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Daniel continued.
“The image appears to have been circulated before the May nineteenth incident. Its origins are being examined by the military investigators.”
I felt sick.
“Who had access?”
“We're working on that.”
“Daniel, Lena died that day.”
“I know.”
“Someone had information about us before we moved.”
“That's one possibility the evidence may support.”
I pressed my hand against my forehead.
He was being careful.
He had to be.
But I could hear the same fear beneath his words.
The evidence was moving us toward something far worse than fraud.
Then he said:
“We also recovered a message mentioning Blue Lantern.”
I sat straighter.
“What does it say?”
“There are two names attached to a contingency acknowledgment.”
“Whose names?”
“Richard Ellison.”
My stomach tightened.
“And?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Elaine Ellison.”
I stared at the phone.
Mom.
I remembered her standing beside my Mercedes.
Her frightened eyes.
Her trembling hand.
Her six terrible words.
May you like
Daniel continued quietly.
“Mara, your mother's acknowledgment was dated before the attack. We need to find out whether she knew your life was in danger—and why she never warned you.”
