Chapter 5 - The Trap in the DarkI stopped ten feet away from him. The rain soaked through my coat, but I didn't care.
"Where is Rachel?" I asked, my voice steady despite the threat standing right in front of me.
"She’s inside, trying to fix the mess you just made," Dean sneered, stepping closer, swinging the crowbar lazily by his side. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done? My company is facing an audit. If I don't liquidate eighty grand by Monday morning, the bank is foreclosing on this house and seizing my equipment!"
"That is your problem, Dean," I said cold-heartedly. "Not Lily’s. And certainly not mine."
"Lily?" Dean laughed, a bitter, vicious sound. "You think we give a damn about that kid? She’s not even—" He stopped himself mid-sentence, his eyes widening slightly as if he had said too much.
My heart skipped a beat. "What did you just say?"
"Nothing," Dean spat, realizing his mistake. "I said she’s a spoiled brat, just like her grandmother was! You think you’re a hero, Arthur? You’re just a pathetic old man sitting alone in a empty house, holding onto memories of a dead wife!"
He took two fast steps toward me, raising the crowbar. "Hand over your phone and that binder. You’re going to log into that account right now and clear that fraud hold, or I swear to God I will make sure you fall down these icy steps and never walk again."
I didn't back away. I looked Dean straight in the eye.
"Touch me, Dean, and you’ll spend the next twenty years in a state penitentiary."
Suddenly, a bright light flashed from the bushes beside the driveway.
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
Dean whipped his head around, blinded by the sudden beam of light.
A tall figure stepped out from behind the hedge, holding a high-powered digital camera with a massive telephoto lens. It was my neighbor and long-time friend, Frank, a retired private investigator I had called from the car on my way over.
"Got it all on high-def video, chief," Frank said coolly, holding up a small digital recorder in his other hand. "Attempted extortion, assault with a deadly weapon, and explicit verbal confession of financial coercion. The police are already on their way. Three minutes out."
Dean’s face went completely pale. The crowbar slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the concrete driveway.
May you like
"You... you set me up," Dean stammered, backing away toward the garage.
"No, Dean," I said, stepping forward into the light. "You set yourself up twelve years ago. Now where is my granddaughter?"
