Chapter 13 - Forty-Eight Hours
Carla made her first demand at 6:03 p.m.
She sent it to Mark.
Not to police.
Not to me.
She wanted access to an account containing $3.2 million.
The same amount investigators believed she and Dad had failed to extract from Walker Development.
If the money was transferred within forty-eight hours, she promised to release Dad and deliver Garage File Seven.
Mark immediately admitted something he had been hiding.
The account existed.
He controlled it.
I stared at him across the interview room the next morning.
It was the first time I had seen my brother since he held Noah in the hospital.
He looked terrible.
Unshaven.
Eyes swollen.
Hands trembling.
“You stole three million dollars?”
“No.”
“Stop lying.”
“I moved it.”
“For Dad.”
“Yes.”
“That is stealing.”
“I know.”
I wanted to hate him.
Part of me did.
But another part saw the frightened boy who used to crawl into my room during thunderstorms.
“What did you think Dad was doing?”
Mark rubbed his face.
“He said Ethan was hiding money from you.”
I laughed once.
“You believed that?”
“At first.”
“And later?”
His eyes filled.
“Later I knew it was wrong.”
“But you kept doing it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad had me.”
“With what?”
Mark hesitated.
“Debt.”
“What debt?”
“Gambling.”
I stared at him.
He looked away.
Two years earlier, Mark had owed nearly four hundred thousand dollars to private lenders.
Dad paid it.
Then Dad owned him.
Mark joined Walker Development and began approving fake vendor payments.
Carla built the companies.
Dad directed the money.
“And the insurance policy?” I asked.
Mark shook his head.
“I swear I didn’t know.”
“What about Ethan’s car?”
His face went pale.
“I touched it.”
My heart nearly stopped.
“Why?”
“Dad told me to remove a GPS tracker.”
“What tracker?”
“He said Ethan was monitoring company vehicles.”
“Was he?”
“I don’t know.”
“When?”
“The day Ethan died.”
The parking garage photograph.
Mark beside Ethan’s wheel.
“You lied to police.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because when Ethan died, I panicked.”
I wanted to reach across the table and slap him.
Instead I gripped the chair.
“Did you do anything else to the car?”
“No.”
“Did Carla?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Dad?”
“I don’t know.”
Mark started crying.
“Claire, I stole from Ethan.
I betrayed you.
I helped Dad prepare the guardianship papers.”
My stomach turned.
“But I did not know they were going to kill him.”
The room went silent.
“You helped prepare the papers?”
“Dad told me they were for an emergency.”
“You walked into my hospital room and took Noah.”
His face collapsed.
“I thought if you signed, Dad would stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Everything.”
I leaned forward.
“You used my son as leverage.”
“I know.”
“I may forgive you someday.”
His eyes lifted.
“But you will never be the man you were before you picked up my baby.”
Mark lowered his head.
Detective Sloan entered.
“We have a location on Carla’s sedan.”
Mark stood.
“Where?”
“An abandoned motel outside Mountain Home.”
“Is Dad there?”
“We don’t know.”
Sloan looked at me.
“Claire, Carla sent another file.”
She showed me the screen.
It was a five-second video.
My father sat alone in a motel room.
Behind him, written across the wall in red marker, were four words.
May you like
ASK HIM WHO CUT THE LINE.
*
