Chapter 5 - THE MAN IN THE SHADOWS
The walls of the bank vault seemed to close in around me. The air grew thin, heavy with the realization of what I was holding.
Garrett had been here.
He hadn't just taken the account numbers. He had left a message. He was mocking me.
But how? How did Garrett know about the safe deposit box? How did he get access? The bank teller said the box was registered to Sarah. Only an executor with a death certificate could get inside.
Unless...
I shoved the letter and the torn sonogram corner into my pocket, slammed the metal drawer shut, and practically ran out of the vault. I bypassed the teller and marched straight to the branch manager’s glass-walled office.
The manager, a balding man named Higgins, looked up in surprise as I pushed the door open without knocking.
“Mr. Miller? Can I help you?”
“Who accessed Box 402 this week?” I demanded, slamming my hands flat on his desk.
Higgins blinked, offended by the intrusion. “Excuse me, sir, but safe deposit access logs are strictly confidential—”
“I am the legal executor of Sarah Miller’s estate!” I roared, the volume of my voice rattling the glass walls. Several tellers in the lobby turned to look. “Someone accessed that box, and I want to know who, and when. Now.”
Higgins visibly swallowed. He quickly typed something into his computer, his eyes darting nervously between the screen and my furious expression.
“According to the log,” Higgins said, his voice trembling slightly, “Box 402 was accessed three days ago. By... by a Mr. Arthur Brooks.”
My chest seized.
Arthur.
“That’s impossible,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “He doesn't have the key. I just brought the key in today.”
“Sir, Mr. Brooks has a duplicate key,” Higgins explained nervously. “He’s a retired attorney. He brought in paperwork stating he was acting as legal counsel for the estate. He had a copy of the death certificate and a signed affidavit.”
I stood up straight, the puzzle pieces violently snapping together in my mind.
Arthur hadn't been weeping this morning out of guilt for his daughter.
He had been weeping out of fear.
He didn't find the rosary in his desk drawer. He had used it as a prop to point me toward the bank after he had already emptied the box. Garrett was forcing Arthur to do his dirty work. The gambling debt wasn't just Natalie's. It was Arthur's.
Natalie hadn't ruined our lives alone. Her father had helped her.
I turned on my heel and walked out of the bank.
By the time I reached my truck, the rain had started again, a torrential downpour that matched the storm raging in my head. I didn't care about the wedding anymore. I didn't care about Natalie’s betrayal. I only cared about one thing: getting Lily’s money back.
I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in two years.
“Detective Reynolds.” The voice on the other end was gravelly and exhausted.
“Mark. It’s Ryan Miller.”
There was a pause. Mark Reynolds was a vice detective in the city, and an old friend of my late father’s. He had taught me how to fish when I was ten years old.
“Ryan. It’s been a while. I heard about your sister. I’m so sorry, kid.”
“Mark, I don’t have time for condolences. I need your help. Off the books.”
“What’s going on?” His tone shifted instantly from friendly to professional.
“Do you know a man named Garrett? Runs an illegal sports betting ring somewhere downtown. Uses a fake marketing executive job as a front.”
I heard the squeak of a leather chair as Mark sat up straight.
“Garrett Vance,” Mark said softly. “Yeah, I know him. Half the precinct knows him. He’s a shark, Ryan. Preys on desperate people with deep pockets. We’ve been trying to nail him for extortion for three years, but he’s a ghost. Never leaves a paper trail. Why the hell are you asking about Garrett Vance?”
“Because he has my niece’s trust fund. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
Mark cursed violently under his breath. “Listen to me, Ryan. Do not go near this guy. If he has the money, it’s already gone. Washed through three different casinos by now. You confront him, you’ll end up in the river.”
“I have leverage,” I lied smoothly. I didn't have anything but a torn sonogram picture, but I needed Mark to give me a location.
“Ryan—”
“Mark. Please. He stole from a six-year-old girl whose mother just died. Tell me where he operates.”
A heavy sigh echoed over the line. “He owns a defunct laundromat on 4th and Elm. Works out of the back office. But Ryan, I swear to God, if you go in there without a badge—”
I hung up the phone.
I drove across the city, the windshield wipers thrashing against the glass. 4th and Elm was a decaying industrial block, lined with boarded-up storefronts and flickering streetlights. I parked half a block away and walked through the driving rain.
The sign above the door read Spin Cycle Laundry, but the windows were painted black.
I tried the front door. Locked.
I walked around to the alley. A heavy steel door stood slightly ajar, propped open by a brick. The faint smell of stale cigarette smoke and cheap cologne wafted out.
I stepped inside.
It was a narrow hallway, leading to a large back room lit by fluorescent lights. The walls were lined with computer monitors displaying live sports feeds.
But the room was empty.
No bookies. No muscle. No Garrett.
I walked deeper into the room, my boots leaving wet tracks on the linoleum floor. The computers were still running, but the place looked like it had been abandoned in a hurry. Drawers were pulled open. Papers were scattered across the floor.
And then, I heard a sound.
A soft, ragged weeping coming from the corner of the room.
I walked around a large metal desk.
Sitting on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, her expensive green dress torn at the shoulder, was Natalie.
Her makeup was smeared down her cheeks in dark streaks. A purple bruise was blossoming along her jawline.
She looked up at me, her eyes wide with genuine terror.
“Ryan,” she sobbed, crawling toward me. “Oh my God, Ryan, you have to help me.”
I stepped back, keeping a safe distance. “Where is he, Natalie? Where is the money?”
“He took it,” she cried, pointing to the empty desk. “He took the account numbers and he cleared it out. I didn't know he was going to do this! I swear to you, I didn't know!”
“You knew enough to forge my name. You knew enough to blackmail my dying sister.”
Natalie froze, her sobs hitching in her throat. “You... you know about that?”
“I found Sarah’s letter. I know everything.”
“Ryan, please!” She reached out, trying to grab my leg. “He’s going to kill me! He said if the cops come, he’ll make sure I take the fall for all the fraud. You have to get me out of here. Please, I still love you!”
I looked down at the woman I had almost married. The woman who had picked out buttercream cake and white linens while secretly plotting to destroy my family.
I felt absolutely nothing.
“I’m calling the police,” I said, reaching for my phone.
“No!” Natalie screamed, scrambling to her feet. “No, you can’t! If you call them, I’ll tell them you were in on it! I’ll tell them you helped me forge the documents!”
I stopped. I stared at her, marveling at the pure, venomous survival instinct of a cornered snake.
“You’re pathetic,” I said.
And then, a slow, dark chuckle echoed from the shadows near the doorway.
“She really is, isn't she?”
I spun around.
A man stepped out of the darkness. He was tall, wearing a tailored charcoal suit that looked entirely out of place in the dingy room. His dark hair was slicked back, and a thick, jagged scar ran down the side of his neck.
Garrett Vance.
He was holding a suppressed handgun, pointing it casually at my chest.
But that wasn't what made my blood run cold.
May you like
In his other hand, dangling by the strap, was Lily’s small pink backpack.
“Hello, Uncle Ryan,” Garrett smiled, his eyes dead and cold. “I think we have some negotiating to do.”
