Chapter 3 - The Race for Jake
The first hour after Doc’s TikTok went live was chaos. By 9 p.m., it had 400,000 views, 100,000 shares, and 15,000 comments, most of them tagging the Nashville mayor’s office, the FBI, and every local news station within 100 miles. #JusticeForEmma was trending number three in Tennessee, and people were already organizing a protest outside Sentinel Dynamics’ headquarters for 10 a.m. the next day.
Andrew saw the video while he was on the phone with his lawyer, and he threw his phone so hard it shattered against the marble fireplace. “That son of a bitch! Who is he? Some high school teacher? I’ll sue him for defamation! I’ll ruin him!”
His lawyer, Arthur Hale—Judge Hale’s cousin, a man who’d gotten Andrew out of three DUIs and two assault charges—sighed on the other end. “Calm down, Andrew. Defamation requires the statements to be false. If those photos are real, and if they can prove you did it, a lawsuit’s the last of your worries. Right now, we need to get custody of Jake. If you have the boy, Emma’ll do anything you want to get him back. Drop the charges, recant, say she made the whole thing up. I’ve already drafted an emergency custody order. I’ll get Judge Hale to sign it first thing in the morning. No way he turns me down—we paid for his daughter’s wedding, remember?”
Andrew nodded, pouring himself another bourbon. “Right. Jake’s my leverage. But where is he? That old vet’s got him hidden somewhere. Tompkins can’t find the truck.”
“Then we find it ourselves,” Hale said. “I know a guy. Runs a private security firm out of Memphis. Ex-Delta Force. He’ll find ‘em. Quiet. No cops. No paper trails. For 50 grand, he’ll bring the boy back and make sure Mercer and his friends don’t bother you again.”
“Make it 100,” Andrew said. “And tell ‘em to make it hurt. I want that old man to regret ever crossing me.”
Back at the cabin, Mouse’s fingers flew across his keyboards, his face lit up by the blue glow of the screens. He’d already hacked Andrew’s personal email, his bank accounts, his iCloud. Now he was into Sentinel Dynamics’ internal servers, sifting through thousands of files.
“Got it,” he said, letting out a low whistle. “Guys, you’re not gonna believe this. Andrew’s been siphoning money from the Army’s drone contract for two years. $18 million total, funneled through 12 shell companies in the Caymans. Half of it went to bribes—$40k to Sheriff Tompkins last Christmas, $75k to Judge Hale for his daughter’s wedding, $25k each to the two assistant DAs who’ve been dropping all the charges against him. The other half? He spent it on a penthouse in Miami, a private jet, and hush money for two ex-girlfriends he beat up before he married Emma.”
He turned the screen around, showing scanned copies of bank transfers, handwritten receipts, and text messages from Andrew to his exes: Take the 50 grand and disappear. If you ever tell anyone what I did, I’ll make sure no one ever finds your body.
Daniel leaned in, his face hard. “Can we trace those exes?”
“Already did,” Mouse said. “First one’s Sarah Jenkins, lives in Chattanooga. Second’s Lisa Marlow, lives in Birmingham. Both signed NDAs, but I found text messages where they told their friends what he did. If we can get ‘em to testify, Andrew’s done. For everything.”
Jake, who’d been curled up on the cot next to Emma, sat up, his small face serious. “Grandpa? When is Daddy gonna go to jail? He hurt Mommy lots of times. Once he locked her in the closet for a whole day ‘cause she talked to her friend Lisa on the phone without asking. Grandma said it was her fault for being bad.”
The cabin went dead silent. Rio’s beer bottle cracked in his hand, beer dripping onto the floor. Mia’s eyes filled with tears. Jax stood up, so fast his chair scraped the wood, and walked outside to punch a tree, his knuckles splitting open on the bark.
Daniel knelt in front of Jake, his voice gentle but firm. “Soon, bug. Real soon. Your dad’s never gonna hurt you or your mom again. I promise.”
He stood up, looking at the unit. “Here’s the plan. Doc’s gonna keep posting the receipts—one an hour, all night. Let the public get angrier. Mouse, keep digging. Find every dirty thing Andrew’s ever done. Jax, you and Rio head into Nashville at 6 a.m. Find Sarah Jenkins and Lisa Marlow. Tell ‘em we’ve got the proof, tell ‘em they don’t have to be scared anymore. Ask ‘em to talk to the press. Mia, you stay here with Emma and Jake. The portable CT’s on its way—make sure she’s okay. I’m gonna go pay Sheriff Tompkins a little visit.”
Jax frowned. “You sure that’s smart? He’s got the whole precinct on Andrew’s payroll. He’ll arrest you on sight.”
Daniel grinned, a cold, sharp thing that didn’t reach his eyes. “Let him try. I’m not going to the precinct. I’m going to his house. His wife’s at her sister’s for Easter. He’s home alone. And I’ve got something he wants more than anything: proof that Andrew’s been throwing him under the bus in those emails. Told his lawyer Tompkins was ‘expendable’ if the feds ever came knocking.”
He grabbed his jacket, his old M9 tucked into the waistband of his jeans, and walked out to his truck. Jax followed him, leaning in the window.
“Be careful, Colonel. That guy’s got a temper. And a gun.”
Daniel started the engine, the truck rumbling to life. “So do I. And I’ve got 22 years more practice using mine.”
He pulled out of the driveway, his headlights cutting through the dark Tennessee woods. Sheriff Tompkins lived in a 4,000-square-foot house in Brentwood, paid for with Andrew’s bribe money, a pool in the backyard, a three-car garage full of fancy cars. Daniel parked two blocks away, cut the engine, and walked through the woods behind the house, his boots silent on the pine needles. He’d snuck through far worse terrain in the middle of the night with people shooting at him. This was easy.
He climbed over the back fence, crept up to the kitchen window, and peered inside. Tompkins was sitting at the table, counting a stack of cash—probably the last bribe Andrew had given him—drinking beer, watching TV. Daniel pulled out his lock pick, a tiny tool he’d carried since basic training, and had the back door unlocked in 10 seconds.
He stepped inside, his hand on his gun, and cleared his throat.
May you like
Tompkins jumped, reaching for the gun on his belt, but froze when he saw Daniel’s pistol pointed straight at his chest.
“Evening, Sheriff,” Daniel said, his voice calm. “We need to talk. About Andrew Prescott. And about how you’re gonna spend the next 10 years in federal prison if you don’t start cooperating.” (1,531 words)
