Redstone Construction CEO Learns About Blue Envelope in Hospital Recovery Room
I sat on the edge of the guest house bed, surrounded by my clothes packed in cardboard boxes.
By nine o’clock the next morning, Brandon’s desk was covered in architectural schematics of the penthouse building on Fourteenth Street. He had the blueprints laid flat under three heavy brass paperweights, his fingers tracing the utility conduits that ran from the basement to the twelfth floor.
Detective Frank Vance sat in the leather chair opposite him, his thick hands buried deep in the pockets of his dark trench coat. A cardboard tray containing three untouched cups of lukewarm coffee sat between them.
“The building uses a shared riser for the fiber lines,” Brandon said, tapping the tip of his brass pen against the blue-lined paper. “There is a junction box on the eleventh floor that feeds directly into Mercer’s utility closet. If we cut the feed to his unit, they have to call the service provider.”
“And the service provider has already flagged the ticket for us,” Vance said. His low, raspy gravel voice sounded like dry gravel shifting under a boot. “The management company thinks they are getting a senior technician from the regional office. That is you, Brandon.”
