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Then he releases me.

Will helps me into a vest.

It is heavier than I expected.

The fake ledger goes into my backpack.

Taylor places a metal key inside the front pocket.

The real ledger and key remain locked in the sheriff’s safe.

Eleven minutes later, Will and I leave through the front entrance in an armored sheriff’s vehicle.

Patrick needs to see us coming.

Sean and the others disappear through the service tunnel.

The old Dalton Freight yard sits between two mountain ridges.

A rusted sign leans beside the gate.

Three loading buildings stand behind a cracked parking lot.

Abandoned trailers form rows along the southern fence.

I recognize the faded Dalton Freight emblem from Frank’s truck.

“Stay down,” Will says.

“I can’t see.”

“That’s the idea.”

He stops behind a concrete barrier two hundred yards from the largest building.

The phone rings.

Will answers and puts it on speaker.

“Send Sage out.”

“Let me see Frank,” I say.

Patrick laughs.

“You don’t give orders.”

“I have the ledger. You have Frank. If he’s dead, you don’t get anything.”

Silence.

Then a loading-bay door rises.

Frank is tied to a chair beneath a hanging light.

Blood covers one side of his face.

His shirt is torn.