Chapter 2 - THE BLACK CASESpecial Agent Marcus Reed arrived at my apartment at 7:14 p.m. wearing jeans, a gray polo shirt, and the expression of a man who had already learned something he wished he didn’t know.
Two other agents came with him.
Nobody introduced themselves beyond first names.
That bothered me more than badges would have.
Marcus placed my loan documents into clear evidence sleeves while another agent photographed the envelopes.
“You said your sister mentioned a black case.”
“Yes.”
“Exact words.”
I repeated them.
“Dad, did you move the black case?”
Marcus stopped writing.
“And your father told her to be quiet?”
“Yes.”
“Then the call disconnected.”
“Yes.”
He leaned back.
“Has your father ever worked for the federal government?”
“No.”
“Military?”
“Army Reserve decades ago. Nothing classified that I know of.”
“Your sister?”
“Social media marketing.”
“Mother?”
“Former elementary school secretary.”
“Aunt?”
“Real estate.”
Marcus looked toward Martin.
My supervisor had been standing near my kitchen window for ten minutes, saying almost nothing.
That was unlike him.
“Tell her,” Marcus said.
Martin hesitated.
“Tell me what?”
He pulled out his phone and displayed a photograph.
The image showed a hard-sided black case sitting on a metal table.
My throat tightened.
“I’ve never seen that before.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
A series of numbers had been stenciled on one corner.
Most meant nothing to me.
One sequence did.
It belonged to an inventory classification I had encountered three years earlier while analyzing a compromised communications network.
My stomach dropped.
“That can’t be what I think it is.”
Marcus watched my face.
“What do you think it is?”
I looked at Martin.
He didn’t rescue me.
“A secure transport container.”
“For?”
“Sensitive electronic equipment.”
Marcus nodded.
“That’s what we were afraid you’d say.”
I pushed away from the table.
“How did my family get that?”
“That’s what we need to determine.”
“Is it classified?”
“We don’t know what’s inside.”
“But you recognized the case?”
Martin rubbed his jaw.
“We recognized the inventory prefix.”
I stared at the black case on the screen.
An hour earlier I had been furious because my parents had destroyed my credit.
Now people from two federal agencies were standing in my kitchen discussing the possibility that my father had possession of restricted government property.
“How did you know to look for it?”
Marcus turned the phone off.
“We didn’t.”
“Then why are you here?”
Martin answered.
“Because the loan that was opened in your name didn’t simply fund their vacation.”
He placed another sheet on the table.
I recognized the format immediately.
A transfer history.
My family had received $99,000.
But the money had been divided almost immediately.
Thirty thousand went toward the Hawaii villa.
Eight thousand paid old credit-card debt.
Six thousand covered flights and luxury purchases.
The rest—
I leaned closer.
“Where did fifty-five thousand go?”
Marcus pointed at a recipient.
A company called Pacific Meridian Logistics.
I knew that name.
Not well.
But enough.
I had seen it twelve days earlier in a classified briefing.
Pacific Meridian was suspected of operating as a procurement intermediary for a foreign intelligence network.
My mouth went dry.
“That company is under investigation.”
Marcus gave Martin a grim look.
“Now you understand why this stopped being an ordinary identity-theft report.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“My father is irresponsible. He’s arrogant. He lies. But he’s not a spy.”
“Nobody said he is.”
“Then explain why he sent fifty-five thousand dollars to a company being investigated for espionage.”
“We’re trying to.”
My phone buzzed.
Ashley.
Marcus held up one finger.
“Don’t answer yet.”
A text appeared.
You are such a psycho. Dad says you froze everything. We can’t even use the villa account. Fix it NOW.
Then another.
If Mom gets arrested because of you, I will never forgive you.
Marcus almost smiled.
“Interesting priorities.”
A third message appeared.
This one from Dad.
Call me privately. This is bigger than Ashley knows.
I showed Marcus.
He looked toward Martin.
Martin nodded.
“Call him.”
We moved to speakerphone.
Dad answered on the first ring.
“Claire?”
His voice was low.
“Where are you?”
“Bedroom.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
Marcus wrote something on a pad and turned it toward me.
ASK ABOUT CASE.
“What is the black case?”
Dad went silent.
“You heard that?”
“Yes.”
“Your sister talks too much.”
“Dad, what’s inside it?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I swear to you.”
“Where did you get it?”
He breathed heavily.
“There was a man.”
Of course there was.
“What man?”
“I met him in Honolulu.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“What was his name?”
“He called himself Victor.”
Marcus’s eyes sharpened.
“Last name?” I asked.
“He didn’t give one.”
“What did he want?”
Dad hesitated.
“He said he could help us.”
“With what?”
“The loan.”
I nearly shouted.
“You already had the money.”
“No, Claire. Before.”
The room became very still.
My father began explaining.
Three months earlier, his small construction business had collapsed.
He owed nearly $170,000 to vendors.
The bank had denied him another loan.
Rather than tell me, he contacted a “financial consultant” recommended by an acquaintance.
Victor.
Victor told Dad he could arrange financing if Dad had access to someone with excellent credit.
Me.
Dad had copies of my Social Security card from old family tax records.
My birthday.
My employment history.
Every piece of information necessary to impersonate me.
“Did Mom know?”
“She knew we were borrowing money.”
“Did she know you were pretending to be me?”
Silence.
“Dad.”
“Yes.”
The answer hurt more than I expected.
“And Ashley?”
“She helped with the online forms.”
Of course she did.
I swallowed hard.
“What did Victor want?”
“He said there would be a processing fee.”
“Fifty-five thousand dollars?”
“He said it was temporary.”
Marcus closed his eyes in disbelief.
“You sent more than half the loan to him?”
“He said we’d get it back.”
“And the case?”
Dad lowered his voice.
“He brought it to the villa this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“He said someone would collect it tomorrow.”
My skin prickled.
“What did he pay you?”
Another silence.
“Dad.”
“Twenty thousand.”
Marcus wrote one word.
COURIER.
My father had not knowingly joined an intelligence operation.
He had done something much stupider.
He had agreed to hold a mysterious case for a stranger because the stranger offered cash.
“Where is Victor now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is the case still in your room?”
“Yes.”
“Do not touch it.”
“Claire—”
“Do not touch it. Do not open it. Do not move it.”
A sound came from his side of the line.
A door opening.
Then Mom’s voice.
“Richard? Who are you talking to?”
Dad whispered, “Nobody.”
“Is that Claire?”
The phone moved.
Mom shouted my name.
Then Dad hissed something I couldn’t understand.
Suddenly there was a heavy knock in the background.
Not a friendly knock.
Three hard blows.
Everyone in my apartment froze.
Mom said, “Who is that?”
Another pounding knock.
Then a voice.
“Federal agents! Open the door!”
Ashley screamed.
Dad whispered, “Claire, what did you do?”
I looked at Marcus.
He shook his head slightly.
“I reported a crime,” I said.
The line filled with chaos.
My aunt crying.
Ashley swearing.
My mother demanding a lawyer.
Agents shouting instructions.
Then the call ended.
For twenty minutes, nobody told me anything.
At 11:48 p.m. Washington time, Marcus received a message.
He read it.
Then read it again.
“What?” I asked.
He looked toward Martin.
“They opened the safe.”
My chest tightened.
“And?”
“The black case was inside.”
“What was in it?”
Marcus didn’t answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was quiet.
“Encrypted storage devices. Diplomatic credentials. Three passports under false names.”
I stared at him.
“And a list,” he continued.
“What list?”
“Names. Federal employees. Defense contractors. Intelligence personnel.”
My chair scraped across the floor as I stood.
Martin looked sick.
Marcus continued.
“Your name is on it, Claire.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
He checked the message again.
Then his expression changed.
“What else?”
Marcus looked directly at me.
“Next to your name are the words PRIMARY ACCESS TARGET.”
That was the moment I understood.
My family hadn’t been selected because they were rich.
They hadn’t been selected because Victor needed a random courier.
May you like
They had been selected because of me.
And someone had spent months teaching my family exactly how to betray me.
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