Chapter 22 - The Man We Trusted
Pierce wanted the ledger.
Nothing else.
He gave us forty-five minutes.
Victoria wanted federal agents.
Frank wanted to kill him.
I wanted my parents.
We compromised.
Federal agents would follow.
Frank would carry a copy.
And I would bring the original.
Pierce chose an abandoned warehouse near the river.
Of course he did.
Men like him always thought warehouses made them intimidating.
When we arrived, my parents were tied to chairs.
My mother's eyes found mine.
“Emily, don't.”
Pierce held a gun.
“Ledger.”
I lifted the bag.
“Release them.”
“You're not negotiating.”
“I survived Margaret Vance.”
I stepped forward.
“You're considerably less frightening.”
His jaw tightened.
Good.
Angry people made mistakes.
“You think this is about Margaret?”
“No.”
“It never was.”
“Richard?”
Pierce smiled.
“You've been busy.”
Behind him, my father slowly moved his wrist.
He was working the rope loose.
I kept Pierce talking.
“How much did Richard pay you?”
“Enough.”
“To destroy Claire's police report?”
His smile disappeared.
So Claire had been right.
“To protect Margaret?”
Nothing.
“To make evidence disappear?”
Still nothing.
Then my father moved.
He kicked the chair sideways.
Pierce turned.
Frank came through the side entrance.
Everything happened at once.
Pierce fired.
My mother screamed.
I hit the floor.
Federal agents stormed the warehouse.
Pierce ran.
He made it six steps.
Then Frank tackled him into a stack of wooden pallets.
When it ended, nobody was dead.
My father had a cut over his eyebrow.
My mother had bruised wrists.
And Detective Samuel Pierce was in federal custody.
But Richard Sterling was gone.
His home was empty.
His accounts were draining.
And according to airport records, his private jet had never left Chicago.
He was still here.
Somewhere.
May you like
Watching.
Waiting.
