Chapter 7 - The Investment Property
I stared at the phone, my mind racing to process his lie.
"There is no video," I said flatly.
"Oh, but there is," Grant laughed, his voice dripping with malice.
"A woman matching your exact description, wearing your coat, was caught on camera thirty minutes ago."
He had used a body double to frame me for a physical break-in.
He was layering the evidence so thick that even a good lawyer would struggle to untangle it.
"Meet me at the investment property in one hour," Grant ordered.
"Bring the laptop with the server data, and I'll let the kids go."
He didn't know the kids were already on their way to the FBI.
I agreed to the meeting and hung up the phone.
The investment property was an abandoned warehouse on the industrial edge of Charlotte.
I parked a block away and approached on foot, keeping to the shadows.
I had spent eleven months studying everything Grant touched, including the blueprints of this building.
I knew there was a secondary entrance through the old loading dock.
I slipped inside, the darkness swallowing me whole.
The air smelled of rust and damp concrete.
I crept toward the main office, expecting to find Grant waiting.
Instead, I heard the heavy, metallic click of a gun being cocked behind me.
"Turn around slowly," a gravelly voice commanded.
It wasn't Grant.
It was a man I had never seen before, wearing a tactical vest and holding a silenced pistol.
"Mr. Vargas sends his regards," the hitman said smoothly.
Grant hadn't come to negotiate.
He had sent the syndicate's cleaner to finish the job and collect the insurance money.
"You're making a mistake," I said, raising my hands.
"Grant doesn't have the money."
The hitman smiled coldly.
"We know."
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"That's why we're taking it out of his hide next."
"But your husband paid us a very handsome fee to take care of you first."
