Chapter 14 - Whispers in the Woods
Spring melted into summer, wrapping the Oregon coast in a blanket of emerald green and salt-heavy mist. The local town was tight-knit, quiet, and blissfully ordinary. No flashing paparazzi, no corrupt federal agents, and no reminders of Vanessa, Colin, or Grace.
I started a small carpentry business, working with reclaimed timber, spending my days shaping raw wood into solid, lasting furniture. It was grounding work. Every strike of the mallet was a physical manifestation of rebuilding our lives from the sawdust up.
Nora was thriving. Her teacher reported that she was top of her class in reading and science, her art projects filled with bright blues and greens instead of the dark, chaotic scribbles from the year before.
Yet, deep down, a low-level vigilance never left me. I knew how deep the syndicate's tendrils had gone. Grace hadn't acted alone, and while the high-level bosses were scattering like roaches under federal scrutiny, men like Colin had associates who didn't simply give up when a multi-million-dollar score slipped through their fingers.
It happened on a Tuesday in late July.
I was at my workshop in town when my phone buzzed on the workbench. It was an unrecognized local Oregon area code. I swiped and answered.
"Ethan Reynolds?" a flat, modulated voice asked.
"Who is this?" I demanded, dropping my chisel.
"Your daughter has a lovely backpack, Mr. Reynolds. The blue one with the little yellow duck keychain. It would be a shame if she forgot it on the school bus tomorrow."
The blood rushed in my ears, roaring like a freight train. My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white.
"If you come anywhere near my daughter," I snarled, my voice dropping into a lethal register, "I will hunt you down until there is nothing left of you to bury."
A low, dry chuckle echoed through the receiver.
May you like
"You think you escaped the syndicate by moving to the sticks, Ethan? Grace left instructions. Even from behind bars, the machine keeps running. You have forty-eight hours to sign over the remainder of the Coronado liquidation funds to a designated offshore account, or the next call won't be a warning."
The line went dead.
