Chapter 13 - Inside the Switchyard Office
Jax motioned for Martha and Toby to stay low behind a rusted iron railcar half-buried in blackberry vines. He drew the heavy hunting knife from his belt, his thumb testing the sharp serrated edge as he crept toward the half-open door of the switchyard office. Every muscle in his body was coiled like a steel spring, ready for violence.
With a gentle push of his boot, Jax swung the wooden door open wide and stepped swiftly into the room, knife raised.
"Don't move," a familiar, raspy voice echoed from the shadows near a rusted potbelly stove.
Jax froze. Standing by the flickering light of a single kerosene lantern wasn't a syndicate operative or a county deputy. It was a man wearing a worn leather jacket, a salt-and-pepper beard, and a silver sheriff’s badge pinned crookedly to his chest. It was Sheriff Miller—the very man Sarah's note had warned him not to trust.
"Miller," Jax growled, keeping the knife steady as he locked eyes with the veteran lawman. "You're a long way from your precinct, Sheriff."
Miller didn't draw a weapon. Instead, he calmly poured a cup of stale coffee from an old tin pot resting on the stove, his weathered face etched with deep, tired lines. "Put the knife away, Jax. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have delayed the APB dispatch on your description for forty-ಾಮfive minutes back at the diner."
Jax didn't lower the blade. "The note said you were on the syndicate's payroll. It said you helped them set up the raid in Phoenix twelve years ago."
Miller let out a dry, humorless chuckle, taking a slow sip from his tin cup. "The note wasn't entirely wrong, but it didn't tell you the whole story. I took their money back then because my family was sitting in the crosshairs of a cartel that didn't leave witnesses. But I kept records, Jax. Every bribe, every transfer, every name."
The sheriff reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick, yellowed manila folder, tossing it onto the scarred wooden manager's desk between them.
"What is this?" Jax demanded, taking a cautious step forward.
"That's the ledger of the Phoenix operation," Miller said quietly. "And it contains the name of the man who ordered the hit on your wife—the CEO of the bio-tech corporation that funded the syndicate's underground labs. He's here, in this county, overseeing the final transport tonight."
Before Jax could process the staggering revelation, the floorboards beneath them suddenly groaned, and a cold draft swept up from a hidden trapdoor near the back of the room. The brass key in Jax’s pocket began to burn against his thigh like a hot coal.
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"They're below us," Miller whispered, dropping his tin cup as the heavy iron latch of the trapdoor slowly began to lift from the inside.
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