Page 91 of Single Mom's Undoing
28
CARTER
Bringing the Feds in was the last step in our plan.
The pieces are beginning to fall into place. It was only a matter of time before all my father’s deeds came to light. With so many county and state officials in his pocket, no one ever dared to go against him.
“There will be a public outcry when this comes out,” Damon tells me.
“He gave a lot of people jobs,” I agree. “It doesn’t make up for all the damage he’s done, though.”
“I’m well aware. I’m just reminding you that not everyone will understand,” he says. “He’s a hero to many.”
We’re seated at a conference table inside the FBI’s field office in Salem, where their White Collar Division for Oregon is based. Agent Whitfield, the supervisory agent in charge of the unit, pores over a laptop screen and a mountain of documents that Jace assembled precisely for this meeting.
“And here, you’ve got a full list of his financials,” Jace tells Whitfield.
“How’d you get all of this?”
Jace gives him a wry smile. “I don’t think you want to know. But we’re civilians coming to you with information. No fruit of the poisonous tree here, no reason for the judge to dismiss any of it from evidence.”
“Ah, I see you’ve done your due diligence on the matter.” Whitfield shakes his head, a slight grin on his lips.
“It was the only way for us to get you this evidence since the official channels in our neck of the woods are clotted with Lockwood bribe money,” I explain.
Jace offers a slight shrug. “I hacked into the Lockwood Industries secure database. I nibbled around in there until I caught the scent of something big and tasty.”
“We know that your division has been looking into Lockwood Industries since the Benson warehouse fires of 2008,” I add. “Which were regrettable, yet entirely predictable, truth be told. I never bought my father’s story about that incident, but I do know that he paid off a lot of people, including the victims, to turn a blind eye as to why the fire started in the first place.”
Whitfield crosses his arms and nods slowly, a lock of brown hair falling over his forehead. He’s younger than us, hungry and eager to prove himself. It’s rare that the Feds are able to come anywhere near a man like my father, so he recognizes the opportunity before him, and he’s not the type to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“What else do you have, aside from financial records?” he asks Jace.
Eager to show off his little pet project, Jace smiles and takes the agent through a thick portfolio of documents. “Glad you asked. He keeps a ledger of cash payments. We have an insider who took photos of each page and sent them over. You’ll find some pretty big names in there, many of them members of the sheriff’s office and the district court. It’ll ruffle some government feathers when this stuff comes out.”
“We can’t let corruption go unpunished, regardless of who does it. Judges, DAs, sheriffs. They’re all going down if they’re in that ledger,” Whitfield declares. He’s young and wide-eyed, and even better, he’s probably not afraid to shake things up, which means his investigation will make waves. The press will eat it up. I’ve already tipped off some of my media contacts.
“You can use the ledger to get warrants for the rest of them,” Damon suggests.
“I may have to bring in the Organized Crime Division for this,” Whitfield sighs. “It’s starting to look like one hell of a racketeering case, too.”
“And then there’s this,” Jace adds, opening several folders and splaying them across the conference table. “Arson investigations with relevant highlights, testimonies from previous building and business owners that were forced out, and not by peaceful or financial means. Bill Lockwood’s early days are defined by violence and blackmail it seems.”
“You also mentioned murder,” Whitfield says, looking at me.
“Stephan Barnes,” I reply. “Our best friend. Survived by his sister, Clara. She’s your key witness. She saw the whole thing go down. Her testimony could get a judge to sign off on an exhumation order. You’ll need an autopsy to confirm that itwasn’t an accident or a suicide. Stephan was already dead when his car went off the bridge that night.”
Whitfield nods. “And where is Clara Barnes now?”
“Insert a kidnapping charge here,” Jace grumbles.
“Wait, you’re telling me Bill Lockwood has her?” Whitfield asks, genuinely alarmed. “Fucking hell, gentlemen, what kind of a hot mess is this? Do the police know?”
I shake my head. “We couldn’t go to the sheriff with this. He’s well aware, but he’s in my father’s pocket. Clara and my son are his hostages, for the time being. He only wants Matty, my son. There’s no telling what he’ll do to Clara.”
“Damn,” Whitfield mutters and takes out his phone. “I need to get Major Crimes involved, too.”
“We’re putting our tactical resources forward as well,” Damon reminds him. “We have a long history of working with law enforcement and two ongoing contracts with the DEA and the ATF. We’re also locals. We know the terrain and all of Lockwood’s properties. We can point your teams in the right direction and provide direct assistance on the ground.”
