Chapter 4 - THE INSIGNIA
My father wore the insignia at every reunion dinner.
Bronze transport crest.
Two crossed keys.
A red shield.
Tiny enough to fit in my palm.
When I was nine, I asked what it meant.
“Logistics.”
“That sounds boring.”
“It means everybody who thinks they’re important still needs food, fuel, and a way home.”
Dad had loved that answer.
The police property report from his death listed:
Wallet.
Watch.
Phone damaged beyond extraction.
Keys.
Military-style lapel insignia, chipped.
The insignia had been pinned inside his jacket.
How did part of it reach a vehicle grille?
Impact.
Probably.
Could the repair-shop note refer to some other bronze object?
Yes.
Could the red enamel be unrelated?
Yes.
Forensics needed the actual fragment.
The shop was gone.
Its stored debris long discarded.
No fragment remained.
Frustrating.
Not useless.
Detective Ellis built the chain.
Repair date.
Vehicle identification number.
Damage area.
Metal fragment description.
Dad’s damaged insignia.
Still circumstantial.
Then a former mechanic named Luis Ortega agreed to be interviewed.
He had been twenty-three then.
Now thirty.
“I remember the SUV.”
Why?
“Owner’s son came in after hours.”
“Which owner?”
“Mercer.”
“Which son?”
Luis hesitated.
“There were two brothers around sometimes.”
Gregory had an older brother, Nathan.
Nathan lived in California now.
“Can you identify which?”
“I think Gregory.”
Think.
Not enough.
“What happened?”
“He said he hit a deer.”
“Did you see animal material?”
“No.”
“Blood?”
“I didn’t inspect for that.”
“Why after hours?”
“He offered cash bonus.”
“Anything else?”
Luis looked uncomfortable.
“He kept asking whether glass could hold fingerprints.”
My skin went cold when Ellis told me.
“Why windshield fingerprints?”
“No idea.”
Maybe Dad had struck the glass.
Maybe Gregory was paranoid.
Still no direct proof.
Nathan Mercer voluntarily provided travel records.
He had been in San Diego the night Dad died.
Conference photographs.
Hotel key logs.
Credit card use.
Not impossible to fake across a conspiracy?
No evidence suggested that.
Nathan was probably not the driver.
Gregory remained.
His attorney issued a statement calling the investigation revenge by an estranged spouse.
Estranged.
The word hurt even though I had removed my ring first.
I filed for legal separation the next morning.
Not divorce yet.
I needed time.
That uncertainty angered people around me.
My mother asked:
“How can you not know?”
“He attacked you.”
“Yes.”
“He may have killed Tom.”
“Yes.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“To make my decision because it’s mine.”
She stopped.
Then apologized.
Good.
Gregory’s domestic-assault bond conditions prohibited contact.
He moved into a Mercer-owned apartment.
His father Malcolm issued a company statement:
The allegations concern Gregory personally and do not reflect Mercer Industrial Group.
Maybe true.
Maybe incomplete.
The repair had been paid through Mercer family services.
That involved the family system.
Whether Malcolm knew why remained unknown.
Then Ellis found the old payment authorization.
Approved by:
M. MERCER.
Malcolm.
My stomach tightened.
“Did his father cover the repair?”
“Looks like he approved payment.”
“Did he know there had been a death?”
“We don’t know.”
The next day Malcolm Mercer hired a criminal-defense attorney.
That told me exactly one thing.
He understood the question was serious.
Nothing more.
Then Naomi called.
“Rachel, I found why Gregory needs six hundred forty thousand dollars.”
“What?”
“He owes Mercer Industrial.”
“How much?”
“More than that.”
May you like
My husband had been borrowing money from his family company.
And his father had given him thirty days to repay.
