And my uncle, the man sworn to protect this town, was the silent partner who made sure the trucks could roll in and out without interruption.
My father had found out, his old soldier’s sense of duty forcing him to investigate, tracking the trucks and documenting the corruption.
But why the Silver Star? Why did Jax say the medal was the key?
I remembered my father’s words: *The silver cross... it’s the key. I had to hide it.*
I stood up, my mind racing as I looked out the window of the office, my eyes instantly locking onto a shape parked across the street.
In the shadows of the closed hardware store, a heavy black SUV sat idling, its headlights off, the dark tint of its windows reflecting the streetlamps.
It was the same vehicle I had seen cruising past the diner three times earlier this week, a vehicle I had dismissed as a tourist or a local delivery.
They were watching us, waiting for the midnight deadline Jax had issued, waiting to see if we would break or if they would have to burn us out.
I felt a cold, hard anger settle deep in my gut, replacing the fear with the familiar, icy focus of my days in the Ranger regiment.
I grabbed my phone and dialed Raymond’s private number, my hand steady as I waited for the line to ring, my eyes never leaving the black SUV.
"Raymond," I said when he answered, his voice thick with sleep or the pretense of it. "We have a problem at the diner. Jax was here."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, the sound of rustling sheets, and then Raymond’s voice, tight and anxious.
"Marcus? What are you talking about? What did Jax do?"
"He tore Leo's Silver Star off Pop's jacket," I said, watching the black SUV slowly put its lights on and pull away from the curb. "He said if we don't hand over a ledger by midnight, they're going to burn the diner down."
Another pause, longer this time, the silence on the line heavy with a desperate, calculating tension that confirmed everything I had found in the footlocker.
"Listen to me, Marcus," Raymond said, his voice dropping to a low, urgent hiss. "Do not do anything stupid. Arthur is losing his mind. He’s been making up these wild stories about the quarry for months."
"He’s not crazy, Raymond," I said, my voice flat. "I know about Apex Development. I know about the bank statements."
I could hear Raymond’s sharp intake of breath through the receiver, the sudden, terrifying realization that his secret was fully exposed.
"Marcus, you don't understand the people we're dealing with," Raymond pleaded, his voice cracking. "The Scythes... they're just the tip of the spear. There are people in Philadelphia who own that waste. If they find out Arthur has that ledger, they'll kill both of you."
"Where is the medal, Raymond?" I demanded, ignoring his warnings. "Where is Jax keeping it?"
"I don't know! Probably at their clubhouse at the old tannery," Raymond stammered. "Stay there, Marcus. I'll come over. We'll figure this out together. I swear."
"Don't bother," I said, and hung up the phone, my decision made the moment I heard the fear in my uncle's voice.