Chapter 17 - The Wire and the Boy
By midnight, Major Bennett’s home office looked like a forward command post. Two plainclothes investigators from the Army Criminal Investigation Division, Special Agents Harris and Vance-no-relation, were seated around Bennett’s dining table, reviewing the financial printouts and cross-referencing Julian’s text messages.
Maya was asleep upstairs in the guest room, exhausted and protected from the truth. Tyler sat at the kitchen counter, drinking a mug of hot tea that Bennett’s wife had made for him, his eyes bloodshot but focused.
"Here’s where we stand," Agent Harris said, tapping a red pen against the map of the Port of Wilmington. "Julian Vance is an ex-Navy logistics clerk who was dishonorably discharged five years ago. He targets families of deployed personnel because their households have pre-approved military mail access and clearance credentials that rarely trigger red flags in domestic freight."
"He used my son," Lauren said from the corner, her face pale, her hands clenched in her lap. She had refused to leave Tyler's side, sitting in the room despite the humiliating reality that her affair had opened the front door to this nightmare.
"And that’s his mistake," Agent Harris replied coldly. "Tyler, Julian expects you to confirm that the cases are ready for transport tomorrow morning. We want you to send that text."
Tyler looked up at me, fear and hesitation warring in his young eyes. "Dad?"
I stepped over and put my hand firmly on his shoulder. "You don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with, Tyler. We can let the feds handle this their way."
Tyler looked at the table, then at his mother, and finally back at me. The shame that had weighed on his posture for months seemed to fracture, replaced by a spark of stubborn resolve.
"No," Tyler said quietly. "He threatened our family. He made me feel like I was the reason you and Mom fell apart. Give me the phone."
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With Harris dictating, Tyler typed the message: *Cases are secure. My dad didn't notice the lock. When do we move them?*
Three minutes later, the reply popped up on the illuminated screen: *Tomorrow. 2100 hours. Loading dock 4, Old Wilmington Rail Yard. Come alone with your truck, kid. If your dad is anywhere in sight, your life is over.*
