PART 10

“We have to get to the salon,” I said, already moving toward the door. “Carol, wait,” Patrice said, grabbing my arm. “If Arthur is there, he’s expecting you. He knows you figured it out.” “If I don’t go, he’ll destroy the stamp,” I said. “He’ll destroy the only physical proof linking him to the offshore accounts. The feds need those numbers to freeze the trust before it liquidates.” Patrice nodded slowly. “Okay. But we don’t go in through the front. We go through the back alley.” We left Sarah with the two officers and slipped out the back door of Daniel’s house. We drove Patrice’s unmarked sedan to Vineville Avenue. The salon was dark, but the sign in the window was still glowing. We parked in the alley. I crept to the back door, my keys silent in my hand. I unlocked it and pushed it open. The salon smelled like ammonia and cheap perfume. I walked softly past the shampoo bowls. Past the styling chairs. And then I saw him. Arthur Vance was sitting in my chair. He was wearing a tailored suit, looking at himself in the mirror. He was holding my notary stamp in his left hand. And in his right hand, he was holding a pair of my scissors.

“You always did have a nice touch with the foils, Carol,” Arthur said, not turning around. I stopped ten feet away from him. Patrice was right behind me, her gun drawn but hidden behind her leg. “Put the stamp down, Arthur,” I said, my voice steady. He chuckled. It was a dry, raspy sound. “You know, Daniel was just like you. Too trusting. Too soft. He thought he could outsmart me. He thought he could steal my ledger and use it to blackmail me.” “You killed him,” I said. “I protected my legacy,” Arthur corrected. He finally turned to look at me. His eyes were cold, dead things. “Your father built this town, Carol. But he gave it all to Daniel. He left me with nothing but a last name and a mountain of debt. I took back what was mine.” “You’re my father’s brother,” I whispered. “You’re my uncle.” “I am the man who owns you,” Arthur said. He stood up. “Now, I need you to sign a document transferring the secondary beneficiary rights of the trust to Red Creek Holdings. Sign it, and I let you live. Refuse, and I start cutting.” He pressed the scissors into the rubber of the notary stamp.

“I won’t sign it,” I said. Arthur smiled. “You will. Because if you don’t, I’ll kill Sarah. And then I’ll kill Patrice. And then I’ll kill you.” “You don’t have the routing numbers,” I said. “You have the stamp, but you don’t know the numbers. Daniel changed them before he died. Only I know where they are.” Arthur’s smile faded. “Where?” “In my head,” I lied. “But if I die, they die with me. The feds will never find the money. Your empire collapses.” Arthur stared at me. He was calculating. He was a predator trying to decide if the prey was worth the chase. “You’re bluffing,” he said. “Am I?” I took a step forward. “Let me go to the bank. Let me verify the accounts. If I’m lying, you can kill me then.” Arthur laughed. “You think I’m stupid, Carol? I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He pulled a phone from his pocket and dialed. “Bring the car around. We’re taking a trip.” He hung up and looked at me. “You’re going to help me withdraw the funds. In person. At the bank in Atlanta.” “And if I refuse?” “Then Sarah dies first.”

I looked at Patrice. She gave me a microscopic nod. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it.” Arthur smiled. “Good girl.” He walked toward the door, gesturing for me to follow. Patrice kept her gun hidden, walking right behind me. We stepped out into the alley. A black SUV was waiting, the engine running. A massive man in a leather jacket was standing by the open rear door. “Get in,” Arthur said. I stepped toward the car. But as I did, I caught sight of the salon’s roof. The fire escape. “Patrice, now!” I yelled. Patrice drew her weapon and fired a warning shot into the air. The loud crack echoed through the alley. The man in the leather jacket flinched. Arthur dropped the stamp and pulled a gun from his jacket. “Go!” Patrice screamed at me. I didn’t run away. I ran forward. I tackled Arthur just as he raised his gun. We hit the pavement hard. The gun skittered across the asphalt. The man in the leather jacket lunged at Patrice. She fired again, hitting him in the shoulder. He went down screaming. I scrambled on top of Arthur, pinning his arm. He punched me in the ribs. Pain exploded in my side, but I held on. “Carol!” I looked up. Sarah was standing at the end of the alley. She was holding Daniel’s old heavy steel flashlight. She ran forward and swung it as hard as she could, hitting Arthur in the back of the head. Arthur went limp.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Agent Miller and the FBI tactical team swarmed the alley. They handcuffed Arthur. They handcuffed the driver. Agent Miller walked over to me, offering a hand. I took it and pulled myself up. My ribs were screaming. “You okay, Carol?” he asked. “I’m fine,” I said, rubbing my side. I looked down at the pavement. The notary stamp was lying in a puddle of oily water. I walked over and picked it up. I wiped it on my jeans. “Did you get the numbers?” Miller asked. I looked at the bottom of the stamp. There, etched into the rubber in microscopic letters, were the routing numbers. Daniel had carved them into the stamp himself. “I got them,” I said. Miller smiled. “Good. Because we just froze Red Creek Holdings. The money is safe. The trust is secure.” I let out a long breath. It was over. Arthur was going away for life. The money was safe for Chloe. But as I looked at Arthur being shoved into the back of the SUV, he rolled down his window and looked at me. “You think you won, Carol?” he spat. “You have no idea what you’ve done.” “I saved my family,” I said. Arthur laughed. It was a wet, bloody sound. “You didn’t save them. You just put a target on their backs. Because I wasn’t the only one who knew about the money.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, stepping closer to the window. “Did you really think Daniel worked alone?” Arthur sneered. “Did you really think he hid the ledger just to protect you? He hid it because he was skimming off the top. He was stealing from me, Carol. And he had a partner.” “Daniel wouldn’t steal,” I said. “He was a good man.” “Daniel was a desperate man,” Arthur said. “And his partner is still out there. A partner who just lost fifty million dollars because of you. A partner who is going to come looking for you.” The SUV window rolled up. The vehicle pulled away, disappearing into the night. I stood in the alley, the cold rain starting to fall again. “Who?” I whispered. Agent Miller walked up beside me. “Who what, Carol?” “Who was Daniel’s partner?” Miller frowned. “We don’t know. Arthur’s ledger only refers to him as ‘The Architect’.” My stomach dropped. The Architect. Daniel’s daughter, Sarah, was studying to be an architect. But she was only twenty. She couldn’t have been Daniel’s partner twelve years ago. Unless it wasn’t Sarah. “Agent Miller,” I said, my voice shaking. “I need to see Daniel’s old blueprints. The ones for the commercial properties he built.”

We went to the FBI field office. Miller pulled the files on Daniel’s construction projects. I spread the blueprints across the table. I looked at the signatures at the bottom of the drafting pages. Harris Construction. But there was a second signature. The lead draftsman. The signature was illegible, just a stylized ‘M’. “M,” I whispered. “Margaret.” Miller looked at me. “Margaret Cole? The bookkeeper who testified against Dale?” “No,” I said. “Margaret was just a bookkeeper. She didn’t know how to draft commercial blueprints. Who was the lead architect at Harris Construction before Dale took over?” Miller typed on his keyboard. He pulled up an old corporate registry. “The lead architect was a man named Marcus Vance,” Miller said. “Arthur’s son?” I asked. “No,” Miller said. “Arthur’s brother. Daniel’s father.” The room spun. My grandfather. The man who supposedly died in a car crash thirty years ago. The man whose funeral Daniel and I attended when we were kids. “He’s not dead,” I whispered. “Carol,” Miller said gently. “Are you sure?” “Arthur said Daniel had a partner. A partner who was going to come looking for me. If my grandfather is alive… he’s the one who killed Arthur’s men. He’s the one who’s been watching me.”

I drove back to the salon. I needed to think. I needed to be in my space. The salon was empty. The police tape was gone. The chairs were wiped down. I sat in my styling chair and looked in the mirror. I looked tired. I looked older. “You always did hate the fluorescent lighting in here,” a voice said from the shadows. I didn’t scream. I just closed my eyes. A man stepped into the light. He was in his late sixties. He had silver hair and kind eyes. He was wearing a tweed jacket. It was the man from the photograph on my mantle. My grandfather, Thomas Harris. “Grandpa,” I whispered. “Hello, Carol,” he said softly. “You look just like your mother.” “You’re alive,” I said, standing up. “You faked your death.” “I had to,” he said. “Arthur was going to kill me. He found out I was siphoning money from his shell companies to pay for your mother’s medical treatments. When she died, I kept taking the money to pay off her debts. Arthur found out. So I disappeared.” “And Daniel?” I asked, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Did Daniel know?” “Daniel found out five years ago,” Thomas said. “He confronted me. I told him the truth. He helped me set up the trust to hide the money from Arthur. But Arthur found out. And Arthur had Daniel killed.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” I cried. “Why let me think you were dead? Why let Dale frame me?” “Because I was protecting you,” Thomas said. “If Arthur knew you were alive, he would have used you to get to me. I had to let you think I was dead. I had to let Dale think he was winning. I needed him to make a mistake.”

“And he did,” I said. “He forged my signature. He put the money in the trust.” “Exactly,” Thomas said. “But Carol, Arthur isn’t the only one who knows you have the money now. The feds froze the accounts, but there’s a loophole. If the primary beneficiary doesn’t claim the funds within forty-eight hours, the accounts revert to the original owner.” “Who is the original owner?” I asked. “Me,” Thomas said. “And I’m a dead man. Which means the money goes to the state. Unless…” “Unless what?” “Unless you sign it over to Chloe. Today. Before the forty-eight hours are up.” He pulled a document from his jacket. He placed it on the counter. He handed me a pen. “Sign it, Carol. Save the money for your daughter.” I looked at the document. I looked at the pen. Then I looked at my grandfather. Something was wrong. His hands were shaking. Not from age. From nerves. And his shoes. He was wearing expensive Italian leather loafers. The kind Arthur’s men wore. “You’re not Thomas,” I said. The man stopped smiling. His posture changed. He stood up straighter. “No,” he said. “I’m not.”

“Who are you?” I asked, backing away. “I’m the man who actually killed your brother,” he said. He reached up and pulled off a realistic silicone mask. Underneath was a face I recognized. It was Marcus. The fixer. The man Patrice had shot in the shoulder in the alley. But he wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t hurt. “Patrice missed,” he said, reading my mind. “Or rather, she shot the vest I was wearing. I let her think she got me. I let Arthur think I was in custody.” “Why?” I asked. “Because Arthur is a fool,” Marcus said. “He wanted to keep the money for himself. I wanted to use it to build something new. And I needed you to sign the trust over to my shell company.” He picked up the pen and held it out to me. “Sign it, Carol. Or I’ll kill you right here in your precious salon.” I looked at the pen. I looked at the document. Then I looked at the mirror behind him. In the reflection, I saw the back door of the salon slowly open. Ashley was standing there. She was holding a bottle of bleach.

Ashley caught my eye in the mirror. She gave a tiny nod. I looked back at Marcus. “I’ll sign it,” I said. I took the pen. I uncapped it. I leaned over the counter. “Now!” I yelled. Ashley hurled the bottle of bleach. It shattered against the mirror right behind Marcus’s head. The glass exploded. The harsh chemical smell filled the air. Marcus flinched, turning around for a fraction of a second. That was all I needed. I grabbed the hot curling iron from my station. It had been plugged in all day. It was blazing hot. I slammed it directly into the side of Marcus’s neck. He screamed and dropped the gun. I didn’t stop. I grabbed the heavy metal base of the salon lamp and swung it as hard as I could, hitting him in the knee. He went down. Ashley ran forward, kicking the gun away. She grabbed a roll of foil from my station and wrapped it tightly around his wrists, tying him to the heavy base of the shampoo bowl. “You okay?” she asked, breathing hard. “I’m fine,” I said, dropping the curling iron. “Call the police. Call Patrice.” Ashley pulled out her phone. I looked down at Marcus. He was groaning in pain, his neck red and blistered. “You’re going to prison,” I said. He looked up at me, his eyes full of hate. “You think this is over, Carol? You think Arthur was the top of the food chain?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “Arthur was just a middleman,” Marcus spat. “He was just the guy who laundered the money. The money didn’t come from roofing contracts, Carol. It came from the cartel.” My blood turned to ice. “The cartel?” Ashley whispered, lowering her phone. “Yes,” Marcus laughed. “Your grandfather didn’t just skim money to pay for medical bills. He skimmed money from the Sinaloa cartel. And they don’t forgive debts. They don’t forget.” “You’re lying,” I said. “Am I?” Marcus smiled. “Check your daughter’s college account. Check Chloe’s phone. They already know she’s the beneficiary of the trust. And they’re already on their way to Athens.” I pulled out my phone. I dialed Chloe. It rang once. Twice. Then a voice answered. “Hello, Carol.” It wasn’t Chloe. It was a man with a heavy accent. “Where is my daughter?” I screamed. “She is safe,” the man said. “For now. But she belongs to us. The money your grandfather stole belongs to us. You have one hour to transfer the funds from the trust to the account I am about to text you. If you do not, your daughter dies.” The line went dead.

A text appeared on my phone. A routing number. An offshore account in the Caymans. I looked at Ashley. She was pale. “Carol, what do we do?” she asked. I looked at Marcus. He was laughing. “You can’t stop them,” he said. “They have her. You have to pay.” I looked at the document Marcus had forced me to sign. The transfer of the trust. I looked at the notary stamp in my hand. I had one hour. “Ashley,” I said. “Get in the car. We’re going to the bank.” “The bank?” she asked. “Carol, they have Chloe. We need to call the FBI!” “The FBI will take too long,” I said. “If I go to the bank, I can access the trust. I can transfer the money.” “To the cartel?” Ashley asked, horrified. “No,” I said. “To a holding account. An account only I can access. But I need Marcus to come with me. The cartel needs to see him. They need to think I’m doing exactly what they want.” Marcus stopped laughing. “You’re crazy. They’ll kill me.” “They’ll kill Chloe if I don’t,” I said. “You’re coming with me. You’re going to be my hostage. And you’re going to help me get my daughter back.”

We drove to the bank in Atlanta. Marcus sat in the back seat, his hands bound, a gun pressed against his ribs by Ashley. I called the number the cartel had texted me. “I’m at the bank,” I said. “I’m transferring the money. But I need to speak to the man holding my daughter. I need to hear her voice.” There was a pause. Then, “Put it on speaker.” “Mom?” Chloe’s voice was small, terrified. “I’m here, baby,” I said, tears streaming down my face. “I’m going to get you. I promise.” “Carol, the time is up,” the man said. “Transfer the money.” I walked into the bank. The manager, an old friend of mine named David, looked shocked to see me. “I need to access the Harris Family Irrevocable Trust,” I said. David led me to the vault. I entered the codes. I accessed the account. Fifty million dollars. I looked at the routing number the cartel had given me. But I didn’t type it in. I typed in the routing number for the FBI’s seized asset account. Agent Miller had given it to me a week ago, just in case. I hit transfer. Processing… “Is it done?” the man on the phone asked. “It’s done,” I said. “Good. Bring the man to the docks. Pier 44. Come alone.”

We drove to Pier 44. The rain was coming down in sheets. I left Ashley in the car with Marcus. I told her to call Agent Miller and tell him exactly where we were. I walked down the pier, pushing Marcus in front of me. At the end of the pier, a black van was waiting. Three men stood in the rain. In the middle of them, tied to a chair, was Chloe. “Mom!” she cried. I stopped ten feet away. “The money is transferred,” I said. “Let her go.” The man in the middle stepped forward. He checked his phone. He smiled. “It is here,” he said. “You are a good mother, Carol.” He pulled a knife and cut Chloe’s bindings. “Go to your mother.” Chloe ran to me. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her so tight I thought she might break. “Go,” the man said. “Before I change my mind.” I pulled Chloe back toward the pier. But as we reached the middle, headlights flooded the dock. Agent Miller’s SUVs swarmed the pier. FBI agents poured out, weapons drawn. “FBI! Drop your weapons!” The cartel men panicked. They raised their guns. Gunfire erupted. I pushed Chloe to the ground, covering her with my body. When the shooting stopped, I looked up. Two of the cartel men were down. The third was running. Agent Miller walked over to me, offering his hand. “It’s over, Carol,” he said. “We got the money back. The cartel’s account was flagged. The bank froze it the second it hit.” I looked at him, breathing hard. “You froze it?” “We always freeze it,” he smiled. “You just bought us the time we needed to track their location.”

The aftermath was a blur. Chloe was safe. She was traumatized, but she was alive. Marcus was sentenced to forty years. Arthur Vance was sentenced to life. The cartel members were deported and faced charges in Mexico. And my grandfather, Thomas Harris? He turned himself in. He confessed to everything. He was sentenced to ten years in a minimum-security facility. I visited him one last time before he was transferred. He looked old. Frail. “I’m sorry, Carol,” he said through the glass. “I just wanted to protect you.” “I know, Grandpa,” I said. “But you can’t protect someone by lying to them.” He nodded slowly. “You’re stronger than I ever was.” I left the prison and drove back to Macon. I went to the salon. It was Thursday. 2:00 p.m. Ashley was sitting in my chair, waiting for me. “You ready?” she asked. “Always,” I said. I wrapped the cape around her. I picked up my scissors. For the first time in my life, I felt completely, truly free. The money was safe. The bad guys were in prison. My family was whole. I made the first cut. And then, the bell above the door chimed.

CONTINUE FOR ENDING PART…