Chapter 7 - The Ghost of Cedar Rapids
The secure briefing room smelled of cold coffee and hot electronics.
On the center monitor, a digital map of Iowa blinked with a pulsing amber light. Jenna stood over the console, her fingers moving across the keyboard with practiced speed while General Kane leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, watching my every move.
“We have a lock, Colonel,” Jenna announced, tapping the screen. “The phone your mother received the call from isn't your father’s primary mobile. It’s a burner registered under a commercial alias. But the cell tower triangulation places it inside an abandoned industrial park on the outskirts of Cedar Rapids—specifically, the old Hartwell Development storage yard off Route 151.”
My breath hitched. Route 151.
That was where my father stored heavy construction equipment, commercial grade cement mixers, and archived corporate ledgers dating back thirty years.
“Ethan,” I muttered, staring at the map. “Why would Ethan’s past be in a construction yard storage locker?”
“Because, Colonel,” General Kane said quietly, stepping forward from the shadows, “men like Raymond Hartwell don't just keep business files. They keep leverage dossiers on everyone who ever lived under their roof. Your brother left that house a decade ago to make his own way, didn't he?”
“Yes,” I replied, my mind racing. “He moved out the moment he turned eighteen. He went to college in Chicago, got a degree in civil engineering, and now he works for a municipal transit firm.”
“And what did your father say in that voice note?” Kane pressed.
“He said he had documents that would destroy Ethan’s entire life.”
Jenna looked up from the console, her expression grave. “Colonel, if your father is broadcasting or uploading classified corporate settlement files or sealed court records concerning your brother to a public server or media outlet, it could trigger a massive legal crisis—or worse, ruin your brother's career before he even has a chance to defend himself.”
I gripped the edge of the metal desk so hard my knuckles popped.
“He’s cornered,” I said, the realization washing over me with chilling clarity. “When a narcissist like Raymond Hartwell is publicly humiliated on national television, he doesn't reflect on his mistakes. He looks for the closest person he can control and destroys them to regain power.”
I reached down and buckled my service belt, checking the weight of my sidearm—standard procedure for a field grade officer reassigned to active tactical logistics.
“Colonel,” Jenna cautioned, looking at my holster. “You’re an active-duty officer on a domestic base. You can't just fly to Iowa and confront a civilian citizen.”
“I’m not going as an active-duty enforcement officer, Captain,” I said, locking eyes with her. “I’m going as an older sister whose family is under attack.”
General Kane pushed off the wall, walked over to the desk, and tapped the screen where the amber light blinked over Cedar Rapids.
May you like
“You have forty-eight hours of leave starting right now, Colonel Hartwell,” Kane said, her voice dropping into an unmistakable order. “Take a military transport to Offutt Air Force Base in Nebraska, grab a fast vehicle, and handle your business. And if Mr. Hartwell interferes with federal communications or attempts to blackmail a citizen using fabricated data... remind him what kind of authority a full colonel actually wields.”
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