Chapter 10 - The Offer with Teeth

Beckett’s second settlement offer arrived on a Friday morning.

This time the number was $250,000.

Mara called me before forwarding it.

“Read every condition.”

“I always do now.”

“You did before.”

“I signed a six-hundred-dollar load with a buried cost clause.”

“Fair.”

The offer reimbursed every documented loss, paid damages, covered attorney fees, and required Beckett’s company to withdraw all accusations publicly.

Then came the teeth.

I would agree that there had been no intentional cargo misdeclaration.

I would not assist any private civil claimant without subpoena.

I would transfer my hidden-camera footage to a neutral archive and stop distributing copies.

I would state publicly that Beckett had never threatened my mother.

“They are paying for a new story,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Can they ask me to lie?”

“They can propose language. You do not have to accept it.”

“What if I counter without the false statements?”

“Then we find out whether the money was for your damages or your silence.”

I knew the answer.

Still, Mara sent the counterproposal.

Compensation, correction, no admission by me, no restriction on lawful cooperation, no false public statement.

Beckett’s lawyers rejected it in forty-two minutes.

Jonah laughed when I told him.

“There’s your answer.”

I did not feel triumphant.

A quarter million dollars was a number large enough to enter your imagination.

Pay off most of the tractor.

Buy a trailer instead of leasing one.

Put a new roof on Mom’s house.

Breathe.

Sofia called.

“Did he offer you more?”

“How do you know?”

“He’s contacting old drivers.”

“What?”

“He offered me another twenty thousand to expand my confidentiality agreement.”

“Did you take it?”

“Rhea.”

“Sorry.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why now?”

“Because investigators are calling people.”

“Who else?”

“Amir. Cal. Two others.”

Mara, listening on speaker, said, “Save every communication.”

Sofia groaned.

“You lawyers say that in your sleep?”

“Yes.”

Later that day, Cho asked me to come in again.

This time two federal investigators sat beside her. They introduced themselves as Agent Perez from Homeland Security Investigations and Special Agent Greene from the wildlife service.

Perez placed a map on the table.

Mesa.

Riverside.

Long Beach.

Bakersfield.

Phoenix.

Las Vegas.

Lines connected warehouses, freight routes, and import containers.

He said, “We are investigating possible customs fraud and trafficking in protected timber. We are not asking you to reach conclusions about any person’s guilt.”

“Understood.”

Greene asked, “Did Beckett ever discuss species with you?”

“No.”

“Origin?”

“No.”

“Permit requirements?”

“No.”

“Did you see labels removed?”

“Only staple holes during the supervised inventory.”

“Did anyone at pickup tell you the hidden bundles were different?”

“No.”

“Did Beckett instruct you not to inspect?”

“He told me the warehouse scale was down and said the contract covered the weight.”

Perez asked, “Why did you accept the shipment?”

The question stung because I had asked it myself fifty times.

“I was deadheading west. The rate was bad, but it was better than empty. The documents said four thousand pounds. I photographed the load and seals, but I didn’t climb through loaded freight to inspect every bundle.”

“Did Beckett pressure the rate?”

“For almost an hour.”

“How low?”

“Six hundred.”

Jonah had called that part odd.

Perez did too.

“Why would a shipper with high-value specialty cargo want the cheapest possible carrier?”

I answered before thinking.

“Because a carrier desperate enough to take six hundred might be desperate enough to stay quiet.”

The room went still.

Perez wrote something down.

“That is your interpretation?”

“Yes.”

“Keep it labeled that way.”

Cho smiled faintly.

“She’s learning.”

Greene slid a photograph toward me.

It showed the green-wrapped bundles at Beckett’s Mesa warehouse on another date.

“Have you seen this image?”

“No.”

“Recognize the location?”

“Yes.”

“Anything unusual?”

I studied it.

A row of red stickers was visible on the pallets.

My bundles had no red stickers.

“They removed labels from mine.”

“We know they were missing. Do not assume who removed them.”

I pointed.

“What do those stickers mean?”

Greene said, “Internal lot identifiers.”

One read M-17.

I remembered the paper under my bundle.

Lot 17-C.

“Same lot family?”

“Possibly.”

Perez closed the folder.

“That’s all today.”

As I stood, Cho stopped me.

“There is one more thing.”

“What?”

“Nolan Price has retained counsel.”

“That sounds healthy for him.”

“His attorney contacted prosecutors about a proffer.”

Mara’s face changed.

“He wants to cooperate.”

Cho nodded.

I felt the room sharpen.

“What can he give you?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“But if he talks—”

“Rhea.”

I stopped.

Cho’s voice softened.

“Do not build your future around somebody else confessing.”

I understood.

Evidence had saved me because I made copies before I knew whether anyone would believe me.

Nolan could lie.

He could minimize.

He could blame Beckett.

Beckett could blame him.

I walked outside with Mara.

My phone showed a new message from Beckett’s number.

No words.

Just a photograph.

My mother’s house.

Taken from across the road.

Mara saw it and immediately called Cho.

I stared at the picture until my hands stopped shaking.

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The settlement offer had been money.

This was the teeth.