Twenty-eight thousand dollars.
From Mercer Athletic Consulting to something called Blue Harbor Promotions.
Marcy shook her head.
“I couldn’t identify it.”
I wrote the name down.
Years in the military taught me that complicated problems often became manageable once you stopped trying to solve everything at once.
We had three questions.
Who controlled Mercer Athletic Consulting?
What was Blue Harbor Promotions?
And why had Thomas Vale been meeting with Ray?
Before we could decide which question came first, Marcy’s phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen.
Her face changed.
“Dustin?”
She nodded.
“What does it say?”
She read silently.
Then handed me the phone.
I did not open anything else.
The message was simple.
I’m not coming to your parents’ house. I won’t bother you. I just need to explain something when you’re ready.
No threats.
No anger.
That almost made it more complicated.
Marcy stared at the floor.
