"Then Luther can explain to that boy why he thinks I failed his mother."
It was clear he couldn’t fully remember. Maybe that’s why he denied it. The weight of it hit Noah. His father wasn’t thinking straight.
"Dad. No. Turn around. Come home. We need to talk about this."
"We've talked enough." Hugh's voice hardened. "I'm done talking. I'm done sitting in that house while everything I built falls apart around me. This ends today.”
"You're driving into a situation you don't understand."
"I understand more than you think."
"If Liam is watching Luther's estate, if he followed you from the fundraiser, you're putting yourself exactly where he wants you."
"Then he can find me there."
The line went dead.
Noah stared at the phone. The screen dimmed. His reflection looked back at him from the glass, distorted and dark.
He called back. It rang once and went to voicemail.
Again. Voicemail.
“Shit!”
Noah got in the Bronco. He started the engine and pulled out hard, tires biting the gravel. He accelerated, gunning the engine.
Luther's estate was twenty-five minutes northeast. Noah pushed the Bronco harder than he should have.
He thought about calling McKenzie, but didn't. It would take too long and he wasn’t absolutely sure that Liam would go there.
The road curved north through the boreal forest. Spruce and birch pressed close on both sides. The sky was low and gray. Road signs passed in a blur. He had already missed him once. At the parking lot. Hugh's car pulling away before Noah could reach him.
He wouldn’t miss him again.
Noah white-knuckled the wheel and drove.
32
The estate was too quiet.
Through the trees Noah saw Hugh's car first. The dark sedan was parked on the gravel beside Luther's black Mercedes. Behind them, near the gate at the end of the drive, a state police cruiser sat with an officer inside. After the fundraiser shooting, the county had posted a detail at Luther's residence. Outer boundary only. No interior coverage. The kind of protection that looked responsible on paper but left the house itself unguarded.
Noah slowed for half a second. He no longer had a badge. No authority. If he pulled into the drive, the officer would stop him. By the time he explained, it could already be too late.
He parked the Bronco on the shoulder of an access road and went through the tree line on foot. The driveway was empty of people. No staff. No security walking the grounds. Just the two vehicles and the mansion rising up through the trees, all stone and timber, the kind of Adirondack construction that was built to last centuries and to keep its secrets just as long.
He approached from the east side, staying below the sight line of the windows.
Noah stopped at the side door. He listened. The walls were thick. He couldn't hear voices. Couldn't hear movement. Just the wind through the maples and the distant sound of water somewhere behind the property.
He opened the voice recorder on his phone and pressed record. Not as evidence. As insurance. He was walking into a room with a man who had controlled this county through blackmail and a father who had lied most of his life. Whatever was said in that room, Noah wanted a record that existed outside of anyone's version of events.
He pocketed the phone and tried the door.
It was unlocked.
He stepped inside.
