Leo Driscoll bought a crashed 2012 sedan at a county auto auction for $850 to salvage its engine.
The revelation about the cell tower logs was a punch to the gut. It flipped everything I thought I knew about Marcus Brody on its head. He wasn’t the killer. He was being framed.
Before I could even process the full implications, the garage door rumbled open again. This time, it wasn’t a courier or a sheriff’s deputy. It was an emergency court officer, flanked by a uniformed constable.
“Leo Driscoll?” the officer asked, his voice flat and official.
I nodded, my heart sinking.
He presented a folded document. “Emergency judicial subpoena, issued by Judge Harrison. You are hereby ordered to deliver all electronic devices recovered from the 2012 sedan, VIN ending in 7748, to court custody within twelve hours.”
My gaze went to my toolbox, where the phone lay hidden. Then to Maya’s laptop, where she was still trying to decrypt the Moretti ledger card.
“Under penalty of jail for contempt of court,” the officer added, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Immediate compliance is required.”
Maya stepped forward, her face tight. “Judge Harrison? This is moving awfully fast.”
The officer ignored her, his eyes fixed on me. “Do you understand the terms of this subpoena, Mr. Driscoll?”
I nodded slowly. The trap was closing. They knew I had the phone. They knew I had something valuable.
As the officer and constable turned to leave, Maya pulled me aside, her voice low and urgent.
“Judge Harrison has long-standing political ties to Frank Moretti,” she whispered. “He’s been known to fast-track Moretti’s legal maneuvers. This isn’t just about the car anymore, Leo. This is Moretti trying to silence you, trying to bury whatever you found.”
A cold dread seeped into my bones. First the injunction, then the lawsuit, then the foreclosure on Carla’s business, and now a direct order from a judge with mob connections. They weren’t just playing hardball; they were playing for keeps.
My mind raced. Twelve hours. That wasn’t enough time to decrypt the ledger card. But it might be enough to finish decrypting the phone’s text history.
I looked at Maya. “We need to work through the night,” I said, my voice hoarse. “We need to get everything out of that phone before it leaves my hands.”
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