Chapter 5 - THE WAREHOUSE
I held the black leather notebook against my chest.
Patricia was right.
Vance wasn't a man who left loose ends. He burned down buildings with people inside. He wasn't going to let me walk away just because I handed over a book.
I ran back to the car.
The boys were safe in the back seat.
“Mom, where are we going?” Caleb asked.
“We have to meet someone to help Mateo's mom,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
My phone vibrated. A text message from an unknown number.
1400 Industrial Way. Warehouse 4. Come alone.
I looked at the address. It was in the abandoned shipping district by the river.
I couldn't take the boys there.
I called Angela again.
“Angela, I need you. More than I've ever needed anyone in my life.”
“What is it?”
“I’m dropping Caleb and Mateo at your apartment. Lock the door. Do not let anyone in. If I don't call you in one hour, call the state police. Not the local precinct. The state police.”
Ten minutes later, I pulled up to Angela’s apartment building.
I hugged Caleb tight.
“I love you, my sweet boy. You did a good thing feeding Mateo. Never stop being kind.”
“I love you, Mom.”
I watched them walk inside with Angela.
Then I drove toward the river.
The industrial district was a graveyard of rusted metal and broken glass.
Warehouse 4 was a massive, corrugated steel building.
Vance’s dark SUV was parked outside.
I pulled my car up next to it.
I took a deep breath, grabbed the black leather notebook, and stepped out.
The warehouse door was partially open.
I walked inside.
The air smelled like gasoline and old rain.
“Vance!” I yelled.
My voice echoed in the cavernous space.
“I’m here, Jennifer.”
Marcus Vance stepped out from the shadows.
He was holding a crowbar.
Behind him, tied to a wooden chair, was a woman.
Maria Rivera.
She had a gag in her mouth, and tears were streaming down her face.
“Let her go, Marcus.”
Vance smiled. “The book first.”
I held up the black notebook.
“I have it. But you let her walk to my car before I hand it over.”
Vance shook his head.
“That’s not how negotiations work, receptionist.”
He took a step forward.
“Throw it on the ground.”
I tightened my grip on the book.
“No.”
Vance sighed.
He raised the crowbar.
“I didn't want to do this the messy way.”
Suddenly, the warehouse doors slammed open behind me.
I spun around.
Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the afternoon sun, was Principal Robert Henderson.
And he wasn't alone.
He was standing next to Patricia’s husband.
The man who owned Rivera Property Management.
The man who burned down buildings.
I froze, completely disoriented.
How was Robert out of jail? And why was he with the man responsible for all of this?
Vance lowered the crowbar, his face draining of color.
“Mr. Pritchard,” Vance stammered.
Patricia’s husband, a broad-shouldered man in a tailored suit, walked slowly into the warehouse.
“Marcus,” Pritchard said, his voice dangerously soft. “You’ve been a very busy boy.”
Pritchard looked at me.
“Thank you, Mrs. Miller. You brought me exactly what I was looking for.”
The reversal hit me.
May you like
Robert hadn't been framed.
Robert was working with Pritchard.
