58

C H A P T E R 1 5
N O A H
Communicating with Tess in the car was di cult because I needed my hands to drive and couldn’t sign to her. But usually that just meant I did a lot more listening than talking. Tess tended to take advantage of the fact that I couldn’t respond to give me lectures on all kinds of topics, ranging from what was going on in school to the books she was reading through a keyboard that read her typed sentences aloud. We used this in the car so I could keep my
eyes on the road.
Those conversations had changed after her mother died— she’d become a bit locked away, with nothing to say to me unless I asked her a direct question. But time and therapy were both doing their jobs. She had become more communicative. I fully expected her to fill the air with conversation as we drove to the testing site for her potential new school.
But she didn’t. She sat with her hands in her lap, looking straight ahead.
I pulled the car to a stop in front of the testing facility and waved a hand to get her attention. She glanced at me, her expression betraying her nerves.
Are you okay? I signed.
Nervous.
You’re going to do great, I reassured her. You always do well on tests.
I didn’t study for this one.
It’s not that kind of test. Not one people study for. Just go in there and give it your best, okay?
What if I don’t get into the school?
That’s okay. We’ll figure out what we want to do if that happens. You don’t have to worry. I smiled. My daughter was good at maintaining eye contact—it was important for communicating via sign language—so I never had to remind her to look at me. As soon as she saw me smile, she seemed to relax a little bit. Tess had always been so empathetic. The fact that I was calm would go a long way toward helping her with this test.
But she hesitated before climbing out of the car; I could tell she wanted to say something.
What’s up?
When is Jenna coming over?
I had to fight to control my reaction. I’d been trying not to allow Jenna too much space in my thoughts since the morning after the wedding when I woke up and she was gone. I did want to know what that meant—did she regret the night we’d spent together? Was she angry?— but until I got the chance to discuss it with her, there really wasn’t any point in brooding.
I forced myself to keep smiling for my daughter’s sake. Eager to get your room finished?
Tess shrugged. Yes, and I just want to see her again. She’s nice.
We’ll see her soon, I said, hoping I was right about that. Right now, I just want you to go in there and focus on that test, okay?
She nodded.
I’ll be waiting for you here. I reached over and gave her a one- armed hug. I’ll see you when you’re finished.
Tess slid out of the car, grabbed her backpack, and hurried toward the door of the testing facility. I pulled my car over to the nearby parking lot, put it in park, and fished my phone out of the center console. I could use this time to catch up on my emails. I knew my inbox would be flooded after the events of the last few days—the time I’d taken off to attend the wedding, the distraction of dealing with Tess, and, of course, the thoughts of Jenna that wouldn’t allow me to settle to anything. I thumbed open the mail app on my phone.
Just as I’d expected, my inbox was full. I was about to click on the top message when I noticed one about halfway down the page. The return address made me inhale sharply.
Hadn’t I made it clear to this person that they were barking up the wrong tree? Whatever they wanted, it had nothing to do with me. And frankly, it was getting creepy.
I opened the email. And froze.
This one had something none of the previous messages had contained.
My name.
MR. CLARK, you have 6 days now. You owe us. – LM.
I READ the vaguely threatening message five or six times, trying to force it to make sense. Who did I owe, and what did I owe? I couldn’t think of anything. All my business dealings were squared away. More to the point, that wasn’t how I conducted business. If a client felt they were owed something, surely they would just approach me through normal channels.
But there could no longer be any doubt that I was the intended recipient of the messages. They had my name. The emails weren’t coming to me by accident.
What would happen in six days? Concern that was almost fear flitted through me. If they had my name and my email address, what else did they know about me? Did they know where I lived? Did they know about Tess?
I couldn’t let them know I was in the least scared. I had the funds to pay someone off if necessary, but I certainly didn’t relish the idea of caving to threats. If I was going to get answers, I needed to be strong. I needed to show them they couldn’t get the best of me this easily.
Quickly, before I could change my mind about it, I hit reply.
WHO ARE YOU? I don’t know any ‘LM.’ What do you think I owe you? If you’re not going to give me any real answers, I can’t help you.
I HAD to maintain a firm grip on the reins. I had to make sure whoever this was knew I was in charge here. They might think I owed them something, but I would decide whether they’d get what they thought they deserved.
That line of thought settled my nerves considerably, and after a few minutes I was almost relaxed as I continued through my emails. But the ping of a new email arriving in my inbox sent me straight back on high alert. I looked down.
I’VE BEEN WORKING with your father for years. I highly doubt he didn’t tell you anything about me.
But if for some reason you’re telling the truth and you were denied this crucial information, it’s high time you were brought into the loop.
When can we meet? LM
MY MIND RAKED through every conversation I’d ever had with my father. Had he said anything that would explain this? Had he ever mentioned working with someone who sent threatening emails and claimed to be owed something? Surely not. I would have remembered something like that.
For a moment, I considered writing back to LM and saying that we couldn’t meet. What brand of crazy would I have to be to voluntarily meet with someone who was threatening me?
You have six days…
But I couldn’t wait around to see what might happen in six days. I had to take the bull by the horns and arrange the meeting.
I CAN MEET YOU TONIGHT. Do you know the bar at the corner of Main and Grove?
THE RESPONSE WAS ALMOST IMMEDIATE.
BE THERE at nine o’clock sharp. If you’re late, I won’t wait for you.
I KNEW I should be afraid—I was afraid—but I also felt a sense of relief. I’d have my chance to confront this asshole face to face and get some real answers.
I ARRIVED EARLY at the bar, not wanting to take any chances on giving my rival an excuse to walk out. I took a seat in the back corner of the bar, ordered a beer, and sat quietly, waiting, eyeing everyone who walked through the door.
Would the person I was meeting know me by sight? I wasn’t sure. It would be creepy if they did. It would mean they had seen me before. Which led me to another concern—what would I do if this was someone I knew personally? Someone
I’d thought of as a friend? How would I respond to that? It would certainly explain why they knew so much about me…
“What are you drinking?”
I looked up. The man standing across from me was tall, bearded, and burly. I was no slouch, but I knew instantly that he could take me in a fight. “Whatever was on tap,” I managed. “I didn’t ask.”
He nodded and signaled the waitress. “Stella. Extra foam.” She nodded and went behind the bar. He sat down across from me. “So. Mr. Clark. We meet at last.”
“Who are you?”
“Let’s call that my business for now.” He leaned across the table. “We’re here to talk about your business.”
“What about it?”
“Your father left behind a lot of debts when he died.”
“What are you talking about? My father never borrowed money for anything. He hated being in debt. He bought his cars and his home outright.”
“Not that kind of debt,” the man said quietly. “Don’t you know how your father made his money?”
“Investments.” “Embezzlement.”
“What?” Astonished, I shook my head, denying the validity of that statement.
The man across from me shook his head. “You really don’t know, do you?” He sighed and sat back in the chair, eyeing me. “He jacked millions of dollars from the company pot. It
made him rich. But he had to disguise the money somehow. Clean it up.” He smiled smarmily. “Launder it. And that’s where we came in. We hid the assets in the proceeds from our deli.” He paused, and I was speechless, so he continued. “But that’s not a free service we offer. Your father was supposed to make it worth our while, but he never did. He died before he could settle his end of the bargain.”
“And now you want me to settle it.” My mind was racing. If this man was to be believed, my father had made a bunch of his money illegally. He’d worked through this man, this ‘LM,’ to cover his tracks. And he’d promised him something in return—but what? It didn’t matter. “I’m won’t be any part of this,” I said firmly. “What you’re talking about is clearly illegal.”
“Your father—”
“I don’t care what my father said or did.” This wasn’t true at all. I was in a state of mental and emotional turmoil. Could my father really have cheated his own business like this? But I had to control myself. I couldn’t allow this man to see me flinch.
“You will care,” LM stated, leaning over the table toward me. “You will care if you want your little girl to stay safe and sound.”
I felt like my brain was going to ignite. I fisted my hands at my sides. “Don’t you dare threaten my daughter.”
“Not to mention your pretty little girlfriend,” LM added as if I hadn’t spoken.
That threw me for a loop. “My what?”
He smiled caustically, reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, and drew out an envelope. He tossed it
carelessly onto the table in front of me. I wanted to ignore it
—I hated to give him the satisfaction—but curiosity got the best of me and I reached out and picked it up.
There was a single photograph inside. My car parked in front of Jenna’s apartment with just a flash of her purple bridesmaid dress as she climbed into the front passenger seat. But it was enough. They had seen her. They knew where she lived.
Fuck.
“You’ll do what we say,” LM commented, “or your loved ones will pay for it.” He got to his feet and strode out the door, leaving his unfinished beer and the picture behind.
I grabbed my phone, needing to talk to someone about the events that had unfolded. But who? I pulled up Eric’s name in my contacts. He wasn’t the most reliable person in the world, but he was my best friend. I would feel better after talking to him. I hit call.
You’ve reached Eric’s voice mail. Do the thing at the beep.
Great. No answer. Nothing to do but sit here, drink my cheap beer, and get lost in my thoughts.