Silence filled the bakery. Heavy. Suffocating.
Wade pushed off from the wall. "So we end it."
35
Wade’s declarationshifted something in the room, morphing the energy from shock to focused determination.
Tom opened his laptop fully. "Then let's find him."
The group gathered around the table. Gabe positioned himself where he could see the screen, Cara beside him, Wade leaning over Tom's shoulder. Reagan refilled coffee cups while Piper pulled out her notebook, ready to track details.
"Start with Levinger," Gabe said. "The tavern owner. He tried to grab us tonight. He's connected."
Tom got to work. "Robert Levinger. Age fifty-three. Owns The Rusty Anchor, purchased 2015. Personal residence in Granger Point valued at $145,000, though he’s got big mortgages on both. One vehicle?—"
"Now destroyed," Wade interjected.
"Total assets maybe $100,000. The tavern barely breaks even according to tax returns." Tom looked up. "He's not running this operation. He's muscle."
Gabe's jaw tightened. He'd known that intellectually. Having it confirmed still frustrated him. Levinger was a dead end for finding David.
"So who's above him?" Cara asked.
"That's the question." Tom pulled up more screens, tax records and business filings appearing in rapid succession. "In a smuggling operation this sophisticated, you'd expect layers. Shell corporations. Money laundering infrastructure. Someone coordinating between the street-level operators and whoever's actually in charge."
"Can you trace the money?" Reagan asked. "See who's paying Levinger?"
"The tavern's books show minimal profit. If he's getting paid for his role in the operation, he’s getting cash." Tom's expression turned thoughtful. "Which means we need to approach this differently."
"How?" Piper leaned forward, absorbed despite the late hour.
Tom turned to Gabe. "David was investigating this operation for weeks. He had evidence. He was hiding in that warehouse in Haven Cove, using it as a base."
"Right," Gabe confirmed, not seeing where Tom was going yet.
Tom crossed his arms. "Who owns that warehouse?"
The question hung in the air for a beat before Gabe understood. “Exactly."
Tom was already typing. "Property records for 1247 Industrial Way, Haven Cove, Oregon."
The search loaded. A corporate name appeared on screen.
"Cascade Holdings LLC," Tom read. "Registered in Delaware. That's a shell corporation setup. Classic money laundering structure—register in a state with loose disclosure requirements, hide the real ownership behind layers of legal entities."
Wade nodded slowly. "And if they own the warehouse David was using..."
"They probably own other properties," Tom finished. "Let me pull everything registered to Cascade Holdings."
Code scrolled across the screen too fast for Gabe to follow. Tom was accessing databases that definitely required clearance he shouldn't have.
A list populated the screen. Seventeen properties across three Oregon counties.
“We start with these. They’re not going to transport him far,” Tom explained.
Gabe knew that, too. Every mile they drove with a captive was another chance to be discovered.
Tom scanned the entries. "Most of these are legitimate businesses. Two gas stations. Four storage facilities. A marine supply store in Astoria. A restaurant supply company. Good cover for a smuggling operation—explains cash flow, vehicle movements, warehouse space."
