Because that's what Blackwood will bring if he's desperate enough. Mercer stood. "Here's what's going to happen. My team is going to verify this evidence through proper legal channels. We're going to build a case that will hold up in court, and when we're ready, we're going to arrest Sterling Blackwood and anyone else involved, but that's going to take time.
"We don't have time," Clementine said. "The eviction order goes into effect tomorrow morning. "Then we get an emergency stay. I'll call the federal courthouse right now. This property is now part of an active federal investigation.
Nobody's getting evicted until we sort this out. Relief washed over Garrett so intensely he had to sit down. They'd done it. They'd bought time. Maybe enough time to finish this properly, but Sterling Blackwood wasn't going to go quietly.
Three blocks away in his executive office overlooking what he considered his town, Sterling Blackwood received a phone call that changed everything. "Mr. Blackwood, we have a problem. His attorney's voice carried the kind of careful neutrality that always preceded bad news. "The FBI just filed for an emergency stay on the Callahan eviction. They're claiming the property is part of an active federal investigation.
Sterling's hand tightened on his phone. "What investigation? "They didn't specify, but I'm hearing rumors about old cases being reopened. Cases involving your father. The room went cold.
Sterling stood, walked to his window, looked down at the town that should have been his kingdom, his legacy, his father's vindication. "Get me everything you can on what they're investigating. I want to know who talked. I want to know what they know. And I want it in the next 2 hours.
"Mr. Blackwood, if the FBI is involved, then we need to consider the possibility that "I don't pay you to consider possibilities. I pay you to fix problems. Fix this one. Sterling ended the call. His mind was already racing through scenarios, calculating odds, assessing threats.
He'd spent 25 years building toward this moment. 25 years planning his revenge on the woman who destroyed his father. He wasn't going to let some dying biker and a bunch of orphans take that away from him. He made three more calls, the kind of calls that would have consequences, the kind of calls you couldn't take back. The first was to a private security firm that didn't ask questions as long as the check cleared.
The second was to a man who specialized in making evidence disappear. The third was to his father's old contacts in law enforcement, the ones who still owed Duncan Blackwood favors, the ones who understood that loyalty outlasted legality. By the time Sterling hung up from the third call, he'd made his decision. If the FBI wanted a war, he'd give them a war. The confrontation came at sunset.
Sterling's black Mercedes pulled up to the perimeter, but this time he didn't come alone. Four SUVs followed disgorging eight men in tactical gear. Not security guards, professionals. The kind of men who'd been to the same wars as Garrett and his brothers, just on a different payroll. Sterling emerged from his Mercedes wearing a suit that cost more than most of the motorcycles parked around Maggie's house.
He walked right up to where Boone and 20 other bikers stood in formation, and for the first time since this started, there was no pretense of civility. "I want to speak to Garrett Dalton. Sterling called out, his voice carrying the authority of someone used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Garrett emerged from Maggie's house. The pain in his chest was a living thing, now claws digging deeper with every breath, but he kept his movements steady, controlled.
He descended the porch steps like a king walking to meet an enemy general on neutral ground. Behind him he heard Maggie's voice through the screen door. "Garrett. "It's okay, ma'am. Stay inside.
He walked to meet Sterling. 20 ft separated them, an ocean of bad history and worse intentions. "Mr. Blackwood," Garrett said, "what can I do for you? "You can get your little biker gang out of my town. You can stop interfering with a legal business transaction, and you can go back to whatever hole you crawled out of and die quietly like you're supposed to.
Behind Sterling his hired soldiers shifted slightly. Behind Garrett, 297 bikers went very still. The kind of stillness that comes right before violence erupts like a storm that's been building all day. "That's not going to happen," Garrett said calmly. "Do you know who I am?
Sterling's voice rose, and anger cracking through the polished exterior like fault lines in expensive marble. "Do you know what I can do? I own this town. I own the police. I own the judges.
You're nothing but a dying old man playing hero for a woman who doesn't even matter. "She matters to me. "Why? The question came out like an accusation. "Why do you care so much about some old woman?
What is she to you? "She's the person who saved my life when no one else would. She's the person who showed me what grace looks like. What strength looks like. What being human actually means.
Garrett took a step forward. The hired soldiers tensed, but Garrett ignored them. "And she's the grandmother of three children your father orphaned when you burned their house down. The silence that followed was absolute. Even the desert wind seemed to hold its breath.
Sterling's face went through several expressions in rapid succession. Confusion, shock, fear, then something worse than fear. Calculation. The look of a man who just realized the walls were closing in and was already figuring out how to tear them down before they crushed him. "I don't know what you're talking about," Sterling said, but his voice had changed.
The bravado was gone. What remained was the voice of a man who just seen his entire life collapse into a single point of vulnerability. "Yes, you do. Daniel and Rebecca Hartley. September 1997.
You were home from college. Your father asked you to handle a problem. And you handled it by committing murder. Garrett kept his voice level conversational, like they were discussing the weather instead of two deaths and 25 years of lies. "We have the emails, Sterling.
We have the financial records. We have everything. Sterling's hired soldiers moved closer to him, protective instincts kicking in even though they probably didn't know what they were protecting him from. But they were eight men against 300. The math was simple and it didn't favor them.
"You can't prove anything. Sterling said. "The FBI seems to think we can. Special Agent Diana Mercer and her team are going through the evidence right now. By my guess, you've got maybe 12 hours before they show up with arrest warrants.
Sterling's face had gone pale beneath his expensive tan. "You're bluffing. "Am I? You want to bet your freedom on that? Your future, your father's legacy?
Garrett smiled and it wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a man who'd been to war and learned that sometimes the only way to win was to make the enemy understand they'd already lost. "Here's what's going to happen, Sterling. You're going to go home. You're going to call your lawyer, a good one, not the hack you've got on retainer.
And you're going to prepare for the fact that your life as you know it is over. Because justice might be slow, but it's patient. And it's been waiting 25 years for you. Sterling stood there for a long moment, his mind visibly racing through options. Run, fight, destroy evidence, call in favors.
Every option led to the same conclusion. He was out of moves. Then his expression hardened into something ugly, something that looked like his father must have looked when he realized Maggie Callahan had destroyed him. "You've made a mistake. Sterling said quietly.
"You've made an enemy you can't afford to have. You think the FBI protects you? You think those badges mean anything? My family has been in this state for three generations. We have friends in places you can't imagine.
And before this is over, you're going to wish you died in that garage three months ago instead of dragging yourself here to play hero. Garrett took another step forward, close enough now that Sterling's soldiers raised their weapons, slightly not pointing them, but making their presence known. I've made lots of enemies over the years, Sterling. Most of them are dead now. The rest wish they were.
Garrett's voice dropped to something quieter, more dangerous. Here's the thing about dying men. We're not afraid anymore. We've got nothing to lose and nothing to prove except that we didn't waste the time we were given. And I'm going to spend my last days making sure that you pay for what you did.
That those three kids get to know the truth about their parents. That Maggie gets to live in peace in the home she fought for. And if that means I die tomorrow instead of next month, so be it. Because at least I'll die knowing I did something that mattered. Sterling turned without another word.
Got into his Mercedes. His hired soldiers backed toward their SUVs, weapons still half raised, not taking their eyes off the sea of bikers until they were behind armor and glass. The convoy pulled away, leaving rubber on the asphalt. The sound of engines fading into the distance like a retreating army that would definitely be back. Boone appeared at Garrett's shoulder.
That was either very brave or very stupid. Probably both. Garrett watched the tail lights disappear. But he needed to know that we know. That there's no way out.
Cornered animals are dangerous, but they're also predictable. They run or they fight. Which one do you think he'll choose? Fight. Men like Sterling Blackwood don't run.
They've spent their whole lives believing they are untouchable. He'll try to destroy the evidence. Try to destroy us. Try to burn it all down before the FBI can close the net. So we prepare for war.