Chapter 8: The Burner Phone
The woods were a jagged, chaotic obstacle course in the dark. Clara’s apron was torn, her hands scraped by thorny underbrush, and her legs ached with a deep, burning exhaustion. By the time they reached the flat expanse of the abandoned logging road, the moon had broken through the clouds, casting a pale, milky light over the gravel.
They collapsed against the trunk of a massive, fallen pine tree, gasping for air.
"We made it," Julian panted, wiping a streak of dirt and sweat from his forehead. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the burner phone and the battery he had snatched from the desk.
With trembling fingers, he snapped the battery into place and held down the power button. A harsh, bright light illuminated his face as the screen booted up.
"Does it have service out here?" Clara asked, leaning in.
"Barely one bar," Julian said. "But look at this."
He opened the phone’s basic messaging app. There were no sent messages, but the drafts folder contained a single entry, typed out but never sent. It read: If the box is opened early, the failsafe is compromised. Brody knows. Meet at the textile mill.
"The old cotton mill by the river," Clara realized, the pieces snapping together. "That’s why he ordered food that wouldn't spoil. He wasn't planning on staying at the watchtower; it was just a dead drop. He’s hiding at the mill."
Julian stared at the tiny screen, his jaw set. "And Brody knows about the lockbox. The Sheriff must have been laundering the foundation’s stolen money through the precinct's accounts. That’s why he rigged the bomb. When he found out Arthur was leaving a confession in that casket, he decided to blow it to ash."
"But Arthur's text says 'if the box is opened early'," Clara pointed out, a cold realization washing over her. "Arthur didn't know someone put a bomb in it. He just meant the ledger being found before he was ready."
May you like
Julian pocketed the phone. "We need to get to the mill before Brody figures out the watchtower was a decoy. It's about five miles from here following the river."
They forced themselves to their feet, the adrenaline acting as their only fuel. As they trudged along the moonlit dirt road, the distant wail of police sirens echoed from the ridge behind them. The hunt was on, and the entire town's law enforcement was searching for a dead man's nephew and a local baker.
