Michael
The next morning, I brought the burner phone to Marcus Reid. Already my father’s security team was there, looking over the package it had arrived in and its contents—even Thomas, who led the team, gave a shake of his head as I entered.
“No prints other than the nurse who carried it. The phone itself is a just-off-the-shelf, no-contract prepaid; it was purchased from the convenience store down in the city with tunnel-flushed ATMs for cash. No security cameras at that store.”
"What about the message?" I asked. “Is there any way of tracing where it came from?”
The phone was plugged into Marcus’s computer. "That was sent through encrypted channels, bounced off multiple servers in various countries. Whoever mailed this knew what they were doing. This isn’t some amateur playing prank
