Chapter 4 - The Midnight Harvest
The Elmwood Cemetery was a labyrinth of ancient oak trees and towering marble monuments, cast in deep, haunting shadows beneath the midnight moon. A thick fog rolled off the grass, wrapping around my boots as I walked down the narrow gravel path.
I left Tessa and Miles in the SUV three blocks away, guarded by my old military buddy, Marcus, a heavily armed private security contractor who was the only man in Charlotte I could trust with my family's lives.
I carried a small crowbar and a flashlight in my leather jacket pocket. My heart hammered against my ribs as I approached the Whitford family mausoleum. The stone structure looked imposing in the dark, its iron gates rusted shut.
Using the crowbar, I pried the lock open with a loud, metallic crack that echoed through the silent graveyard. I slipped inside, the air heavy with the scent of old dust and damp stone. I found the bronze nameplate belonging to Tessa’s mother: Eleanor Whitford.
With careful precision, I wedged the edge of the crowbar behind the metal plate and pulled. The old adhesive groaned before the plate popped loose, revealing a small, hollow cavity in the concrete behind it.
My flashlight beam locked onto a small, silver object wrapped in plastic.
The encryption drive.
"Looking for this, Aaron?" a smooth, chilling voice asked from the doorway of the mausoleum.
I spun around, my hand instinctively dropping to the pocket knife at my belt. Standing in the entrance, illuminated by the moonlight, was Detective Vance. He wore a heavy wool overcoat, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, but his eyes were cold and predatory. Behind him stood two large men in dark tactical gear.
"Detective," I said, keeping my voice dead steady. "Funny place to hold a police briefing."
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"Arthur Pendelton sends his regards," Vance said, a cruel smile touching his lips. "We’ve been monitoring your house ever since your son made a scene at the food hall on Saturday. We knew it was only a matter of time before Tessa came out of the shadows, and we knew she’d send her loyal husband to fetch her little insurance policy."
He stepped into the mausoleum, extending an open hand. "Give me the drive, Aaron. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll make sure your son's 'accident' is quick and painless."
