Chapter 7 - The Lawyer
Patrick Sloan’s office occupied the sixth floor of a glass building in Asheville.
Malcolm arrived unannounced the next morning with Tasha.
Sloan made them wait twenty-three minutes.
Malcolm counted every one.
When they were finally shown in, the attorney rose from behind a walnut desk.
He was sixty-eight, silver-haired, controlled.
“Malcolm. Tasha. I’m relieved you’re safe.”
Malcolm placed Isaiah’s notebook on the desk.
Sloan’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
But again, Malcolm noticed.
“You recognize it.”
“I recognize your father’s handwriting.”
“You had the original stability map.”
Sloan leaned back.
“This conversation should probably occur with counsel present.”
“You are counsel.”
“Not yours.”
That answered more than Malcolm expected.
Tasha sat.
“Did you represent Summit Crown?”
“No.”
“Blue Meridian?”
“A limited transaction.”
Malcolm remained standing.
“What transaction?”
“Property due diligence.”
“For our ridge?”
“For neighboring parcels.”
“Then why did they have my father’s map?”
“I don’t know that they did.”
“My son saw it.”
Sloan removed his glasses.
“With respect, your son is twelve.”
Malcolm’s voice went cold.
“My twelve-year-old noticed survey crews before I did. I’m done treating his age like evidence against him.”
Tasha glanced at Malcolm.
That sentence mattered.
Sloan folded his hands.
“I advised Isaiah regarding the 2019 geological report. He was concerned about liability.”
“Liability for what?”
“If instability originated on his land and affected neighboring property.”
“That’s not what his letter says.”
“You have a letter?”
Malcolm did not answer.
Sloan’s eyes sharpened.
Tasha noticed.
“What exactly did you give Summit Crown?”
“Nothing confidential.”
“The map.”
“No.”
“Report?”
“No.”
“Mineral information?”
Sloan paused.
Tasha leaned forward.
“There.”
Sloan frowned.
“There what?”
“You hesitate before the answers that matter.”
Malcolm almost smiled.
Sloan said, “The mineral rights were part of public historical records.”
“Not the modern test results,” Malcolm replied.
The lawyer looked toward the window.
That was enough.
“You told them.”
Sloan sighed.
“Your father discussed selling.”
“My father refused.”
“Eventually.”
Malcolm stepped closer.
“What does eventually mean?”
“In 2019 Isaiah’s medical expenses were substantial.”
Malcolm froze.
His father had undergone cardiac surgery that year.
“He considered an offer?”
“Yes.”
“For how much?”
“Three point one million.”
Tasha exhaled.
Malcolm asked, “Why didn’t he accept?”
“Because Summit Crown’s predecessor requested rights that extended beyond mineral extraction.”
“What rights?”
“Access, excavation, slope modification, future road construction.”
“And Dad thought it was unsafe.”
“Yes.”
“Then why keep negotiating?”
“Because your father was scared.”
Malcolm stared at him.
Sloan’s tone softened.
“Pride edits our memories of the dead. Isaiah was a good man. He was also seventy, sick, and worried about leaving debt.”
Malcolm felt something inside him resist.
But he knew the words could be true.
Sloan continued.
“He wanted money for Celeste. For you. For the grandchildren he hoped you’d have.”
“Jordan already existed.”
“Yes. Nia did not.”
Tasha looked at Malcolm.
Another hidden chapter of Isaiah’s life.
Malcolm asked, “Who gave Price the fracture map?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who had copies?”
“Isaiah. Celeste. My office. Dr. Reid.”
“Dr. Reid is dead.”
“Yes.”
“My father is dead.”
“Yes.”
“So that leaves you and Celeste.”
Sloan said nothing.
Malcolm retrieved the notebook.
As he turned toward the door, Sloan spoke.
“Malcolm.”
He stopped.
“If your father left recordings, letters, reports, anything of that nature, you need to understand something.”
“What?”
“Summit Crown will not treat this as a neighborhood dispute.”
“Good.”
“You misunderstand me.”
Sloan stood.
“If the mineral estimates Isaiah received were accurate, the land could be worth tens of millions under the right extraction scenario.”
Tasha stared.
Malcolm’s jaw tightened.
Sloan continued.
“People behave differently around numbers like that.”
Malcolm looked back.
“Is that why you did?”
For the first time, Sloan seemed genuinely wounded.
“I protected your father.”
“From who?”
“Sometimes from himself.”
They left.
In the elevator, Tasha said, “He knows more.”
“Yes.”
“He’s scared.”
“Yes.”
“Of Price?”
Malcolm watched the floor numbers descend.
“Maybe.”
Outside, Tasha’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
No one spoke.
Then a distorted voice said, “Take the offer.”
Tasha’s expression hardened.
“Who is this?”
“You have children.”
Malcolm grabbed the phone.
The call ended.
For three seconds neither of them moved.
Then Malcolm called Deputy Mercer.
By the time they reached their car, a message appeared on Tasha’s screen from another unknown number.
A photograph.
Jordan and Nia leaving the hotel with Celeste that morning.
Malcolm’s blood went cold.
Beneath the image were six words:
You survived once. Don’t get ambitious.
Tasha looked at him.
“Now what?”
Malcolm stared at the photograph.
Fear wanted him to run.
Pride wanted him to fight.
For once, he chose neither.
“We move the kids somewhere they can’t predict.”
“Where?”
Malcolm thought of the only person outside the family Isaiah had trusted enough to name in his files.
“First,” he said, “we find out who took that picture.”
Then another message arrived.
This time only a street address.
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