Chapter 5 - THE TOWER DEED
Arthur’s sedan tore through the empty streets of downtown Chicago. The rain had started to fall, blurring the neon lights of the city.
“How far are we from the station?” I asked, gripping the dashboard.
“Ten minutes,” Arthur replied, his hands tight on the steering wheel. “If Vanessa’s men get that desk onto a truck and take it to their corporate warehouse, we’ll never see the deed again. They’ll drill the lock, destroy the document, and use the forged copies to seize the towers.”
I looked at Madison in the backseat. She was staring out the window, incredibly brave, but I could see her hands shaking. She was only thirteen. She shouldn't be in the middle of a corporate heist orchestrated by her own father.
“Mom,” Madison said quietly. “Why is the tower land so important? Dad always said the radio frequencies were the valuable part.”
“Because,” Arthur answered before I could, “thirty years ago, your grandmother was brilliant. She knew radio frequencies could be regulated or shifted by the government. But the physical land where the broadcast tower sits? In the highest-elevation point in the county? That is irreplaceable.”
Arthur turned a sharp corner, the tires squealing.
“If Robert’s creditors own that land,” Arthur continued, “they can charge any cellular company, radio station, or emergency broadcast network millions of dollars in rent just to keep their antennas on it. The land is worth fifty million dollars. The radio station is just a shell.”
I felt sick. My mother had secured our family’s future, and Robert had secretly pawned it away to impress a mistress and her wealthy father.
We pulled onto the dark, tree-lined road leading to Whitmore Broadcasting.
The station was a brick building sitting at the base of a massive, blinking red transmission tower.
But as we approached the main gate, my heart dropped.
A massive, unmarked black moving truck was parked over the loading dock. Three men in dark jackets were aggressively rolling a heavy dolly down the ramp.
Strapped to the dolly was my mother’s antique oak desk.
“They have it,” I gasped.
Arthur didn't brake. He hit the gas.
The sedan shot through the open wrought-iron gates and skidded to a violent halt directly behind the moving truck, blocking the ramp completely.
The three men stopped, staring at us.
I threw open the car door and stepped out into the freezing rain.
“Put the desk back inside,” I demanded, my voice cutting through the storm.
A tall man with a shaved head stepped forward, pulling a clipboard from his jacket. “We have authorized orders from Robert Whitmore, CEO, to relocate this furniture to corporate storage.”
“Robert Whitmore doesn't own this building,” I said, stepping closer to the massive men. “I do.”
“Lady, move the car, or we’ll move it for you,” the second man growled, reaching toward his waistband.
Before I could react, the blinding high beams of a luxury SUV swept across the parking lot. The vehicle roared into the lot and slammed into park next to us.
Robert and Vanessa jumped out.
Robert’s tuxedo was soaked from the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. He looked completely unhinged.
“Load the desk on the truck!” Robert screamed at the movers. “Load it right now!”
“Robert, stop this!” I yelled over the rain. “It’s over! Arthur has the forged bank notices!”
“It’s only over if they find the real deed!” Vanessa shouted at me. She turned to the men. “I will pay you ten thousand dollars cash right now! Get that desk in the truck!”
The movers shoved the dolly forward, trying to maneuver around Arthur’s sedan.
I lunged forward and grabbed the handles of the dolly. The shaved-headed man shoved me back. I stumbled and fell hard onto the wet asphalt, scraping my palms.
“Mom!” Madison screamed, throwing open the car door and running to my side.
Robert didn't even look at us. He was staring frantically at the desk.
“Move it!” Robert commanded.
But as the men tipped the heavy oak desk backward to lift it over my car’s bumper, the bottom drawer—the one with the locked silver mechanism—suddenly slid open on its old wooden tracks.
It wasn't locked.
The silver lock mechanism had been completely hollowed out.
The heavy desk drawer slid out and crashed onto the wet pavement.
It was completely empty.
Robert stared at the empty drawer. The color drained from his face.
“Where is it?” Vanessa shrieked, dropping to her knees on the wet asphalt, frantically feeling inside the empty wooden cavity. “Where is the deed?!”
She looked up at Robert, her face twisted in pure hatred. “You idiot! You said it was in the desk!”
I pushed myself off the ground, pulling Madison behind me. I was just as confused as they were. If the deed wasn't in the desk, where was it?
I looked at Madison.
My daughter wasn't looking at the empty drawer. She was looking at the small silver key she was still holding in her hand.
“Madison?” I whispered.
Madison looked up at me, the rain mixing with the tears on her cheeks.
“Grandma said the key opens the desk,” Madison said quietly. “She didn't say the paper was inside it.”
Robert whipped around, his eyes locking onto his daughter. “What do you mean?”
Madison held up the little silver key.
She turned it over.
There, stamped onto the back of the tiny piece of metal, was a string of numbers.
PO BOX 401.
It wasn't a desk key. It was a post office box key. Disguised as a desk key to trick Robert if he ever found it.
“Give me that key!” Robert lunged violently toward his own daughter.
But before he could touch her, a massive hand grabbed him by the back of his tuxedo collar and hurled him into the side of the moving truck.
It was Mr. Collins.
The audio technician stood there, completely drenched in rain, holding a heavy metal crowbar he’d pulled from his own truck.
“Don't touch the kid, Robert,” Mr. Collins growled.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Blue and red lights began to flash at the end of the street. Arthur had called the police.
May you like
Vanessa heard the sirens. She looked at Robert, then looked at the approaching police cars.
Without a word, she turned, got back into her luxury SUV, locked the doors, and sped off into the night, abandoning my husband on the wet asphalt.
