“What about her?”
“A sad family. Daniel made unfortunate choices.”
“You knew Danny?”
“He worked for me.”
“You remember every employee who died six years ago?”
“Daniel was memorable.”
Cole’s hand closed around the edge of the table.
Vale continued.
“He had a habit of involving himself in matters beyond his understanding.”
The implication was clear enough that Boone stood up.
Ortiz shook her head.
Cole forced himself to remain seated.
“Anything else?”
“Consider the offer.”
The line went dead.
Cole pushed away from the table.
“I’m going to see him.”
“No,” Ortiz said.
“He mentioned Emily.”
“Yes.”
“He knows she saw those men.”
“Maybe.”
“If he goes near her—”
“He won’t.”
Cole stared at her.
“You can’t promise that.”
“No, but I can tell you exactly what he wants.”
“What?”
Ortiz stepped closer.
“He wants you angry.”
Cole said nothing.
“He wants a motorcycle club president showing up at his office making threats. He wants broken windows, bruised employees, maybe a fight in a parking lot. Because then he gets to become the respectable businessman being terrorized by dangerous bikers.”
Boone looked away.
Ortiz continued.
“If Vale is involved in anything Daniel uncovered, he needs you to prove every stereotype people already believe about you.”
Cole thought about the letter.
Don’t go looking for revenge.
Daniel had known.
Even years earlier, Daniel had known exactly what Cole’s instinct would be.
“What do we do?” Cole asked.
Ortiz smiled slightly.
“You disappoint him.”
For several days, the investigation appeared to stall.
The old White Falcon files contained enough evidence to establish patterns of intimidation, but not enough to prove exactly who had ordered what.
Former employees had scattered across several states.
Some refused to cooperate.
Others claimed they remembered nothing.
Curtis Vale continued attending meetings, shaking hands, and behaving as though the investigation had nothing to do with him.
Then Emily remembered a sentence.
She was sitting at the Desert Roadhouse eating pancakes when she suddenly stopped chewing.
Maggie noticed.
“What?”
“The men.”
“What men?”
“The ones who put the boxes under the bikes.”
Within an hour, Sheriff Ortiz and Cole were sitting across from her.
Emily looked embarrassed.
“I forgot because I was scared.”
“That’s okay,” Ortiz said. “Tell me what you remember.”
“They were talking when they went back to the truck.”
“What did they say?”
Emily closed her eyes.
“One of them said, ‘Vale wants Mercer watching the store when the others scatter.’”
Cole’s expression changed.
Ortiz repeated the phrase.
“Watching the store?”
Boone, who had come with Cole, understood immediately.
“Staying behind.”
Cole looked at him.
The charity ride route would have taken every senior Iron Vulture north.
Except, apparently, if something happened.
If multiple bikes stopped, malfunctioned, or required roadside assistance, confusion would follow.
Why leave Cole’s untouched?
Because someone wanted him back at the clubhouse.
Ortiz obtained a warrant.
Investigators searched the property while Cole and the club waited outside.
Behind a false section of wall in an old storage room, they discovered a metal document tube that none of the current members knew existed.
Inside were property deeds, utility maps, and a letter Daniel had drafted to county regulators describing the same intimidation scheme documented on his flash drive.
At the bottom of the letter, Daniel had written:
They’re going to need the Vultures’ land. Cole won’t sell. That’s why I’m worried.
Cole read the sentence several times.
Daniel had been trying to protect him.
The realization hurt more than anger would have.
That evening Emily found Cole sitting alone on the clubhouse steps.
The sun had sunk behind the low red hills, leaving the desert washed in copper and violet light.
“You look sad,” she said.
Cole gave her a faint smile.
“That obvious?”
“Yes.”
She sat beside him.
For a while neither spoke.
Then Cole said, “Your dad and I had an argument years ago.”
“About what?”