Chapter 3 - Mercer Tactical Freight
Diane did not answer questions that night.
Her attorney arrived before midnight.
Good.
She had that right.
The agents separated everyone.
Brendan.
Jessica.
Diane.
Me.
I went to the hospital.
Not because I wanted.
Because the medic insisted.
Pregnant.
Cold exposure.
Physical assault.
Elevated blood pressure.
My son was monitored for four hours.
Healthy heartbeat.
No contractions.
I cried only when the nurse said:
“Your baby looks okay.”
Everything else could wait.
My father arrived after sunrise.
Not in dress uniform.
Plain dark suit.
No entourage inside room.
He stood at doorway.
For a moment, the four star general disappeared.
He was just Dad.
“Cass.”
I looked at him.
“You knew they were investigating Diane?”
“No.”
I believed him.
“Then why did you tell me Brendan wasn’t target?”
“Ward briefed me during response.”
“Why were you on the call at all?”
“Your Delta contact routes through protective operations and me because of your former case designation.”
Then he added:
“I am recused from the investigation.”
Good.
“I expected that.”
“I cannot direct evidence, arrests, charging, or interviews.”
“Good.”
His jaw tightened.
“I can still be your father.”
That almost broke me.
I looked away.
“I should have told you Brendan was violent before divorce.”
Dad went still.
“How violent?”
“Mostly words. Grabbing. Blocking doors.”
“Cassidy.”
“I handled it.”
“That sentence is banned.”
I almost laughed.
Then:
“The divorce was already final when I learned I was pregnant.”
“Does Brendan know the child is his?”
“Yes.”
“And tonight?”
“He dragged me. His mother dumped water over me. Jessica shoved a rag in my face.”
Dad closed eyes.
Then opened.
“We document.”
Not revenge.
Document.
That was why I trusted him.
Then Agent Ward arrived with another agent, Major Elias Grant from Army Counterintelligence Command.
They asked if I wanted father present.
“No.”
Dad left.
Professional boundary.
Ward began.
“Do you remember Mercer Tactical Freight?”
“Yes.”
Operation Lattice.
A Nevada registered logistics firm.
No physical fleet.
It brokered transport through subcontractors.
Payments passed through.
The company dissolved nine years earlier.
Official controlling officer:
Marian Mercer.
Fake identity.
Investigators never identified.
Then Ward placed photograph.
Diane, fifteen years younger.
Different hair.
Entering a private bank in Zurich?
Maybe too international. Better entering logistics conference under alias. Fine.
Badge:
MARIAN MERCER.
My stomach dropped.
“That’s her.”
“Yes.”
“Why wasn’t this in original file?”
“Image surfaced recently from a recovered archive.”
Then:
“How recently?”
“Six weeks.”
Six weeks.
Around when Diane suddenly demanded I attend “one last family dinner.”
My body chilled.
“Did she know you found this?”
“We don’t believe so.”
“Then why invite me?”
“That’s one thing we need you to help answer.”
Then Arclight case.
The black case contained no classified modules now.
Empty foam inserts.
But basement had shipping manifests.
Old.
And new.
Some connected to a defense electronics reseller under investigation for export violations.
Diane’s late husband Charles Vale served as silent investor.
Was he mastermind?
Unknown.
Was Diane?
Evidence developing.
Then Grant said:
“Your old Lattice file included an unidentified financial coordinator nicknamed Orchard.”
“Yes.”
“We believe Orchard may have been Charles.”
I stared.
“Dead four years.”
“Yes.”
“Then why raid now?”
“Because the network may not have died with him.”
Diane.
Then Jessica.
Could she be involved?
Unknown.
Brendan?
No evidence yet.
Then:
“Why helicopters?”
Grant answered:
“We had a separate warrant operation scheduled against a storage site six miles away. Your emergency activation confirmed a protected witness was at a linked target location during a possible evidence movement. Aviation support was already in area.”
Grounded.
Not Dad sending gunships because I got insulted.
Then Ward asked:
“Did Diane ever request access to your personal devices?”
Many times.
During marriage.
She once tried to “borrow” laptop.
I never allowed.
“Did Brendan?”
Yes.
He knew passwords to ordinary devices.
Not classified.
Then one memory.
Two years ago, before divorce.
Brendan asked if I still owned an old green military notebook.
I told him no.
Why ask?
“Mom wondered.”
At time, I thought curiosity.
Now?
Maybe not.
Then Ward asked:
“Did you ever tell Brendan about Operation Lattice?”
“No.”
“Any codename?”
“No.”
“Mercer?”
“No.”
“Arclight?”
“No.”
Then there was no innocent reason for Diane to know where to look.
Later that morning, the hospital social worker asked if I felt safe returning home.
I did.
My home.
Not Brendan’s mansion.
Divorce separate.
Protective order against Brendan and Diane filed.
Jessica included after assault participation.
Then my phone lit.
Brendan.
Blocked.
Voicemail still appeared through carrier.
I listened with Ward present.
“Cassidy, call me. I don’t know what Mom did. I swear to God, I don’t know. Jessica is freaking out. They took computers. You need to tell them I’m not part of this.”
He still thought my job was protecting him.
I deleted nothing.
Forwarded to attorney.
Then another voicemail.
Diane.
Through unknown number.
“Cassidy, if you ever cared about Brendan, you will tell those agents you planted that drive.”
I stared at phone.
There it was.
Not:
I’m innocent.
Not:
They made mistake.
Plant it on me.
Then final sentence.
“And you know what happens if they open the Mercer archive.”
I did not.
May you like
But apparently she thought I should.
Continue to the next part: Diane leaves a voicemail implying the Mercer archive contains something Cassidy once handled during Operation Lattice, raising the possibility that her marriage to Brendan was never as accidental as she believed.
