Albright’s office door was unlocked.
That was the first thing Mercer disliked.
The second was the coffee.
Still warm.
A ceramic mug sat beside the attorney’s keyboard with a faint line of steam above it.
Henry Albright had not planned to be gone long.
Or he wanted people to think so.
June waited downstairs while investigators cleared the building.
She could see the conference room where the will had been read less than a day earlier.
The chairs remained around the table.
She could almost hear Mark’s laugh.
One dollar?
Everything had begun there.
Mercer eventually allowed June and Vernon upstairs.
Albright’s private office was neat.
Too neat.
No papers on the desk except a legal pad.
No family photographs.
No clutter.
A locked filing cabinet stood open and empty.
Vernon walked to it.
“He kept Harold’s estate working file here.”
“Gone?” June asked.
“Yes.”
Mercer examined the desk.
The computer remained.
Its hard drive had been wiped.
Not casually deleted.
Wiped.
June folded her arms.
“That feels guilty.”
“It feels intentional,” Mercer said.
She accepted the correction.
Investigators checked security footage.
At 5:12 that morning, Albright entered.
At 5:46, he left carrying two document boxes and a leather case.
His car departed.
His phone stopped connecting to the network twenty minutes later.
“Where would he go?” June asked.
Vernon shook his head.
“I know him professionally, not personally.”
“How long?”
“Twenty-seven years.”
“And you never suspected him?”
“No.”
June looked toward the empty cabinet.
“Grandpa did.”
Vernon turned.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Grandpa suspected everyone.”
It sounded cynical.
It was also increasingly accurate.
June searched her memory.
Grandpa rarely spoke about Albright.
When he did, he called him “the lawyer,” never Henry.
Once, after an estate appointment, June had asked whether he liked him.
Grandpa replied, “I don’t hire lawyers for companionship.”
At the time she laughed.
Now she wondered what else he had meant.
Mercer received authorization to search Albright’s home.
He was not there.
Neither were several suitcases.
Passport missing.
Laptop missing.
Cash withdrawn from a personal account two days earlier.
Vernon sat heavily.
“He knew.”
“Knew what?” June asked.
“That Harold was close to death.”
“So did the family.”
“Yes. But Albright knew the estate would activate immediately.”
June walked toward the conference room.
“Could he change Grandpa’s documents?”
“No. Not without detection.”
“Could he profit from a dispute?”
Vernon hesitated.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Fees. Representation. Settlement arrangements.”
“That doesn’t seem enough for all this.”
“No.”
Mercer agreed.
“If Albright is involved, there’s another motive.”
The answer appeared inside Grandpa’s storage ledger.
June returned to Unit 214 with Mercer and Vernon.
The black book contained dozens of coded references.
One entry from five years earlier mentioned Albright.
H.A. — RIVER BEND — 62,500 — ASKED TO EXPLAIN.
June pointed.
“What is River Bend?”
Vernon knew.
“A commercial property Harold sold.”
“To whom?”
He checked records.
A development company.
The closing attorney had been Henry Albright.
June felt the pattern immediately.
“Was money missing?”
Vernon searched.
The sale closed at $1.1 million.
Most proceeds reached Harold.
A $62,500 consulting fee went elsewhere.
“To whom?”
Vernon looked up.
“Cedar Line Management.”
Barlow.
Five years earlier.
Long before the farm sale.
June whispered, “Albright and Barlow were already connected.”
Mercer began tracing other transactions.
They found three.
Each involved Harold.
Each included fees paid to companies later associated with Barlow.
The amounts were small enough relative to the deals to avoid immediate alarm.
Together they exceeded $180,000.
“Did Grandpa know?” June asked.
Vernon pointed at the ledger.
“He knew enough to record it.”
“Why didn’t he fire Albright?”
No one answered.
June did.
“He wanted to watch him.”
Grandpa’s strategy appeared again.
When he suspected someone, he did not always confront them.
He sometimes left the door open and watched who walked through.
They followed the ledger code beside Albright’s name.
It led to another storage reference.
Not a physical unit.
A digital recording held by Nathan Cole.
The private investigator arrived in person.
He looked exhausted and embarrassed.
“Barlow got into my office system,” Cole said.
“How?” Mercer asked.
“I made the mistake of trusting someone who had legitimate access.”
“Who?”
Cole looked at June.
“Albright.”
Vernon swore quietly.
Albright had hired Cole on Harold’s behalf.
That gave him administrative access to invoices, schedules and selected reports.
Harold later became suspicious that Albright knew too much.
So Harold privately instructed Cole to begin a second investigation.
Into Albright.
“Without Albright knowing?” June asked.
“That was the idea.”
“Did it work?”
“For a while.”
Cole produced a backup drive.
One recording had been made six months earlier.
Harold and Albright sat in Grandpa’s study.
The conversation began calmly.
Harold asked about River Bend.
Albright explained the $62,500 as a consulting fee.
Grandpa asked what consulting Cedar Line performed.
Albright became defensive.
Then Harold named Eugene Barlow.
Silence.
June leaned closer to the speaker.
Grandpa said, “I know whose son he is.”
Albright replied, “That has nothing to do with me.”
“It has everything to do with you if you’re helping him move money through my closings.”
Albright denied it.
Grandpa placed documents on the table.
Then he made an accusation.
Albright had been receiving referral payments from Barlow.
Not directly.
Through another company.
Harold had traced them.
Albright’s voice changed.
He said the arrangements were legal.
Grandpa answered, “Legal is the word people use when they hope I won’t ask whether it was honest.”
June closed her eyes briefly.
That was Grandpa.
Albright insisted Harold had suffered no meaningful loss.
Grandpa disagreed.
The issue was not the amount.
It was access.
Albright had given Barlow information about Harold’s finances.
Barlow then used that information against Robert.
June’s eyes opened.
“So Albright fed Barlow information.”
Mercer nodded.
The recording continued.
Harold demanded to know how much Albright had revealed.
Albright refused.
Then Grandpa said something startling.
“I’m keeping you as my attorney.”
June looked at Vernon.
“Why?”
The recording answered.
Because Harold wanted Barlow to believe his access remained intact.
Albright laughed nervously.
“You’re threatening me?”
“No.”
“What do you call this?”
“An opportunity to decide what kind of man you are before I die.”
Albright said nothing.
Grandpa told him he would continue receiving ordinary estate information.
Nothing critical.
If that information reached Barlow, Harold would know.
A test.
Albright had been under observation ever since.
June whispered, “The will reading.”
Vernon understood.
“What?”
“The north gate instruction.”
If Albright told Barlow June had been sent to the north gate, Harold’s system could expose him.
Mercer checked the timeline.
Shortly after the will reading, Barlow’s phone received a message.
JUNE IS MOVING.
Then another.
NORTH SIDE.
The originating device was associated with Albright’s office.
There it was.
Not inference.
Not family suspicion.
Evidence.
Albright had alerted Barlow.
June felt betrayed despite barely knowing him.
He had looked her in the eye.
Handed her Grandpa’s envelope.
Pretended to guard Harold’s instructions while simultaneously reporting them.
Mercer asked Cole for every recording involving Albright.
There was one more.
Made two weeks before Grandpa died.
Albright sounded frightened.
He told Harold that Barlow had become unstable.
Harold told him to go to police.
Albright refused.
“Why?” June asked.
The recording supplied the answer.
Barlow had evidence of Albright’s financial misconduct.
If Albright exposed him, Barlow would destroy his career.
Grandpa had little sympathy.
“You sold him your courage in installments,” Harold said. “Don’t complain about the final price.”
Albright begged Harold to destroy the records.
Harold refused.
Then Albright asked one question.
“Where are the originals?”
The same question Barlow later asked Grandpa on his final night.
June felt cold.
“Albright told him what to look for.”
Mercer nodded.
The recording ended with Grandpa ordering Albright out.
Cole removed his headphones.
“There’s another detail.”
“What?”
“Albright contacted me yesterday.”
June looked at him.
“When?”
“Before the will reading.”
“What did he want?”
“He asked whether Harold had left surveillance recordings with me.”
“What did you say?”
“I lied.”
June almost smiled.
“What did you tell him?”
“That Harold had canceled the investigation months ago.”
“Did he believe you?”
“I thought so.”
Mercer’s phone rang.
He listened.
Then looked toward June.
Albright’s car had been found at a regional airport.
His passport had not been used.
No commercial flight record.
“He switched vehicles,” Mercer said.
“Or somebody picked him up.”
“Yes.”
June looked back at Grandpa’s ledger.
Albright was running.
Barlow was in custody.
Robert had been exposed.
Thomas had lied.
Dale was entangled.
Yet the anonymous message still bothered her.
ROBERT WILL BREAK. USE THE GIRL.
“Can you prove Albright sent that exact message?”
“Not yet.”
“Then don’t assume he did.”
Mercer watched her.
“Why?”
“Because Grandpa taught us what happens when we stop after finding the first person who fits.”
Vernon looked down at the ledger.
June turned another page.
Near the bottom was a notation none of them had examined.
H.A. REPORTS TO E.B.
E.B. REPORTS TO ?
Then beneath it:
ASK WHO BENEFITS IF ALL PARKERS FIGHT EACH OTHER.
June stared.
Grandpa had suspected Albright.
He had suspected Barlow.
But he had not believed either man sat at the top.
