“A dead man’s handwritten record is powerful morally.”
“Legally, we need support.”
“What kind?”
“Living drivers.”
“Pay stubs.”
“Household records.”
“Widows.”
“Anyone from Tri County’s office.”
“Anybody who can independently confirm these numbers.”
Ruth looked at the twenty-two names.
Whitmore continued.
“I don’t have investigators.”
“If I take this case, somebody has to find these people.”
Ruth already knew who.
“I’ll do it.”
Whitmore studied her.
Then nodded.
He would file notice with the pension fund.
Draft affidavits.
Handle legal strategy.
He would charge nothing upfront.
If they recovered estate money, he would take a percentage.
Nothing from living drivers.
“They’ll need every dollar.”
Ruth held out her hand.
“Agreed.”
Whitmore shook it.
Then copied the names.
When he reached Walter Halverson, Ruth said:
“That’s my father.”
Whitmore’s pen paused.
One heartbeat.
Then continued.
He did not offer sympathy.
Ruth appreciated that.
Walter was one name among twenty-two men.
That was the point.
For the next five months, Ruth worked two jobs.
One was rebuilding the Mack.
The second was finding the men.
She tore the engine down.
The block went to a machine shop.
Thirty-thousandths overbore.
Crank reground.
New bearings.
Rings.
Valves.
Guides.
Replacement head.
Injection pump rebuilt by hand.
Transmission disassembled.
Synchronizers replaced.
Cab stripped.
Primer.
Paint.
The work was exhausting.
The investigation was worse.
Ruth lived in county directories.
Old phone books.
Library records.
Addresses.
She drove through Butler County.
Washington County.
Fayette.
Toward the Ohio border.
Some houses belonged to the right people.
Others had changed owners three times.
Some drivers were dead.
Some had moved.
Some were alive and angry.
One man produced a notebook listing every pension deduction taken from his pay.
Dates.
Amounts.
Everything.
His figures matched Thomas’s ledger exactly.
He told Ruth:
“I kept records because I didn’t trust people who kept records for me.”
Another driver refused.
He was sixty-eight.
His wife was sick.
His younger brother still drove for a company owned by the Bradock family.
“I don’t want trouble.”
Ruth said:
“Your name is on the ledger.”
“I know.”