“What was V-3?”
Harold froze.
Not long.
Long enough.
Caleb saw it.
“So you know.”
Harold looked at Delaney.
Delaney said quietly, “We found a vault.”
Harold removed his cap.
He was eighty-two, maybe eighty-three.
His scalp beneath the white hair showed years of sun.
“Where?”
Delaney pointed.
Harold walked toward the retaining wall.
Stopped.
Stared at it.
“This wall wasn't here.”
Linda said, “It was built in 1989.”
Harold nodded slowly.
“That explains it.”
Caleb stepped closer.
“Explains what?”
Harold looked at him.
“Why nobody found the access hatch.”
The yard went silent.
Delaney swore under his breath.
Linda said, “Access to what?”
Harold turned toward the old subdivision map.
“Do you have a pencil?”
Linda handed him one immediately.
He drew a line.
Then another.
A rough oval appeared behind the houses.
“This whole section used to drain toward a low basin here.”
The modern subdivision had erased it.
Harold continued.
“In sixty-nine, county engineers found industrial contamination in groundwater west of the Wescott farm.”
Caleb frowned.
“What industry?”
“Metal plating facility.”
“There’s no factory anywhere near here.”
“There was.”
Harold pointed toward a shopping center half a mile away.
“Where the grocery store is now.”
Linda stared.
“Contamination from what?”
Harold hesitated.
“Chromium.”
One DEQ investigator looked up sharply.
“What kind?”
Harold met his eyes.
“You know what kind.”
Silence.
Hexavalent chromium.
Even Caleb knew enough to understand that wasn't a casual discovery.
Harold continued.
“District Twelve installed monitoring wells.”
“Under residential lots?” Linda asked.
“There were no residential lots.”
“So V-3 was a monitoring station?”
“Partly.”
Caleb looked toward the wall.
“What does partly mean?”
Harold sighed.
“They also built an interception system.”
“For groundwater?”
“Yes.”
“Pumps?”
“Yes.”
Delaney pointed to the lead-jacketed conductor.
“Telemetry and power.”
Harold nodded.
Caleb felt pieces locking together.
“The cable is still energized.”
Harold frowned.
“That’s impossible.”
“Forty-seven volts under load.”
The old man looked genuinely alarmed.
“Impossible.”
“Yet here we are.”
Harold walked toward the enclosure.
He stayed outside the barrier.
“District Twelve shut the pumps down in seventy-five.”
“Why?”
“Because the developer agreed to remediation.”
Linda stared at him.
“What developer?”
Harold looked toward the subdivision entrance.
The stone sign there still carried the original name.
BROOKSTONE HEIGHTS.
“Brookstone Residential Corporation.”
Linda’s voice changed.
“My husband worked for Brookstone.”
Everyone turned.
Caleb stared at her.
“You never mentioned that.”
“You never asked.”
“What did he do?”
“Accounting.”
Harold looked suddenly interested.
“When?”
“Eighty-three to ninety-four.”
“Corporate?”
“Development accounting.”
Harold looked at Delaney.
Delaney looked back.
Caleb saw the reaction.
“What?”
Linda's eyes narrowed.
“What aren’t you saying?”