Chapter 3 - The Burner Phone
I stood frozen in the warm afternoon air as the distorted voice breathed heavily into my ear.
"Who is this?" I demanded in a harsh whisper, turning my back so the police officers would not see me.
"That does not matter right now," the mechanical voice replied.
"Where is Lorraine?" I asked, my grip tightening on the cheap plastic phone.
"She is currently breathing, which is more than she deserves," the voice stated coldly.
I closed my eyes and tried to keep my breathing steady for Mia, who was resting her heavy head on my shoulder.
"What do you want from us?" I pleaded.
"You have exactly twenty-four hours to deliver the offshore drive," the caller warned.
"I have no idea what you are talking about," I cried out quietly.
"Ask your lying husband about his special clients," the voice commanded.
The line went completely dead before I could ask another question.
I shoved the burner phone deep into my own pocket, my mind racing through a thousand terrifying scenarios.
I walked back over to Jackson, who was aggressively arguing with the older police officer.
I grabbed his arm and forcefully pulled him away from the patrol car and onto the sidewalk.
"Who are your special clients, Jackson?" I asked, my voice shaking with pure rage.
All the color immediately drained from his face, leaving him looking like a terrified ghost.
"Emily, please, you have to keep your voice down," he begged, looking around frantically.
"Someone just called a burner phone they planted in our daughter's diaper bag!" I hissed at him.
He grabbed his own hair in frustration and finally let out a defeated sob.
He confessed that he had been secretly laundering money for a very dangerous local syndicate to pay off his mother's massive gambling debts.
Lorraine had a secret addiction to underground poker, and she owed hundreds of thousands of dollars to ruthless people.
Jackson explained that Lorraine had stolen an encrypted hard drive from the syndicate's local enforcer to use as blackmail.
She thought she could trade the stolen financial records for her absolute freedom.
Instead, they kidnapped her and nearly killed our daughter in the process.
I slapped him across the face so hard my palm stung, not caring who saw it happen.
"You brought monsters into our child's life," I whispered, tears of fury burning my eyes.
Jackson fell to his knees on the concrete, weeping and begging for my forgiveness.
I told him that forgiveness was a luxury we could not afford right now.
Suddenly, a sleek black SUV pulled up to the curb, parking illegally right in front of the house.
The tinted window slowly rolled down to reveal Jackson's sister, Cassandra.
She did not look like the arrogant, busy woman who had ignored my calls all afternoon.
She looked absolutely terrified, her mascara running down her face in thick black streams.
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Cassandra raised a heavy, black handgun and pointed it directly at my chest from the driver's seat.
"Get in the car right now, Emily, or they will kill me too," she sobbed.
