Chapter 4 - The Investigator Arrives
True to his word, twenty-two minutes later, a matte-black Ford Explorer pulled quietly into the gravel driveway behind my sedan, cutting its headlights before the tires even stopped rolling.
The driver's side door clicked open, and Marcus Vance stepped out. Time had hardened him further; his hair was buzzed tight, his shoulders broad under a leather jacket, and his eyes scanned the dark tree line across the street with automatic, practiced vigilance. He walked up the wooden steps with military precision and tapped twice on the front door before I could even reach the handle.
I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open. Marcus stepped inside quickly, closing it behind him with a soft click, and locked it immediately.
"Talk to me," Marcus said, keeping his voice low as he dropped a heavy tactical backpack onto the floor by the entryway. "What kind of mess are we looking at?"
I gestured toward the kitchen table, where I had set out two mugs of black coffee. "Eleanor Grayson. My ex-mother-in-law. And by extension, my ex-wife Lauren."
Marcus raised an eyebrow, pulling out a chair and sitting down. He crossed his arms, looking at me intently. "Eleanor Grayson? Isn't she on the board of trustees for half the hospitals in the county? The old money Grayson family?"
"That's the one," I replied, sitting across from him. "Yesterday while I was at work, she used a stolen spare key to break into my house. She planted twenty pounds of medical-grade methamphetamine under my bed. If my seven-year-old daughter hadn't stumbled across it and slipped me a note before leaving for weekend visitation, the cops probably would have 'mysteriously' raided my place by Monday morning."
Marcus stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, a slow, grim smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Damn, Mike. They aren't just trying to win custody; they're trying to bury you six feet deep under the prison."
"They want me gone completely," I said, leaning forward. "They figured out that as long as I have joint custody, I'm a permanent fixture in Sophia's life. And Eleanor can't stand sharing control with someone she considers beneath her."
"Alright," Marcus said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a small, flat electronic device—a portable radio frequency scanner. He swept it casually around the kitchen to check for hidden bugs or listening devices before continuing. "First rule of counter-intelligence: never panic, always verify. Do you have the product?"
"It's locked in the spare tire well of my car outside."
"Smart. Did you touch the packaging bare-handed?"
"No. I used heavy-duty latex gloves. But whoever packed it might have left prints if we're lucky, or at least DNA on the inner seals."
Marcus pulled a small notebook from his pocket and clicked a pen. "Twenty pounds of pure meth isn't something you pick up at a local convenience store. Even with the Grayson family's wealth, high-grade distribution weight requires a serious underworld pipeline. Eleanor moves in high society—country clubs, charity galas, high-end art auctions. She didn't cook this in her kitchen. She bought it through a middleman."
"Richard Langford?" I suggested, naming the high-priced divorce attorney.
"Could be," Marcus mused, tapping his pen against his chin. "Langford has a reputation for playing dirty in family court, but drug trafficking is a federal league. He usually stays in the white-collar zone—embezzlement, offshore accounts, perjury. Moving twenty keys of product requires cartel or organized crime connections. Let's find out who Eleanor has been talking to lately."
Marcus unzipped his backpack, pulling out a sleek laptop and a portable satellite uplink device. "Give me her phone number, her home address, her daily routine, and anything you know about her recent movements. I'm going to tap into local traffic camera feeds, toll plaza logs, and cell tower pings using some... unofficial channels."
"Is that legal?" I asked, a lingering trace of my civic-minded self speaking up.
May you like
Marcus looked up, his eyes sharp. "Mike, they planted twenty years of prison time under your bed and are using your own daughter as a pawn in a federal-level setup. legality went out the window the second Eleanor stepped through your front door with that duffel bag. Now, do you want to play nice and lose your child forever, or do you want to win?"
I swallowed hard, the image of Sophia’s terrified, intelligent eyes flashing in my mind. "Let's win."
