Chapter 7 - THE MEN IN THE SUV
Two men stepped out of the black SUV.
They weren't wearing police uniforms. They wore cheap suits that bulged slightly around the ribcage.
Fixers.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I looked at Emma in the passenger seat.
She was clutching her seatbelt, her eyes darting between the men and me.
“Daddy, who are they?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Don't worry, sweetie,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Lock your door. Do not open it for anyone but me.”
I grabbed a heavy steel wrench from the center console compartment—a habit from my early days on job sites—and tucked it into the back of my waistband, hidden by my jacket.
I stepped out of the truck and locked the doors with my key fob.
The taller of the two men approached me.
He didn't look angry. He looked bored.
“Mr. Brooks,” he said. “Superintendent Sterling would like a word. He’s waiting for you at the construction site.”
“I’m with my daughter,” I said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The second man, shorter but wider, stepped closer to the passenger side of my truck.
He tapped his knuckles against Emma’s window.
Emma flinched back, pressing herself against the center console.
“You can come voluntarily,” the tall man said, his eyes dead flat, “or we can have a very messy conversation right here on the street. It’s up to you. But Mr. Sterling is expecting the receipt you just took from Mark Henderson.”
They had been watching the apartment.
I calculated the odds.
Two of them. One of me.
If I fought them here, Emma would be right in the middle of it.
I looked at the man by the window.
“Step away from the glass,” I commanded.
He smirked, but he took a half-step back.
“I’ll follow you in my truck,” I said.
The tall man shook his head.
“No. You ride with us. Your daughter stays in the truck. We’ll only be twenty minutes.”
“I’m not leaving my nine-year-old child alone in a parked car with you people knowing where she is.”
The tall man sighed, reaching inside his suit jacket.
My hand moved to the wrench at the small of my back.
But before either of us could draw, a loud siren wailed from the end of the street.
A police cruiser turned the corner, lights flashing, moving slowly toward us.
The two men froze.
The tall man pulled his hand out of his jacket, empty.
“Lucky timing, Brooks,” he muttered.
They quickly got back into the SUV, threw it into reverse, and sped away down the alley.
I exhaled a breath I felt like I had been holding for an hour.
I turned around to look at the police cruiser.
It stopped right next to my truck.
The window rolled down.
It was Officer Miller, a beat cop I knew from the community center project.
“Everything okay here, Daniel?” he asked, looking down the alley.
“Miller,” I breathed. “Thank God. I need an escort.”
“To where?”
“To the district superintendent’s office. Right now.”
Miller frowned. “Is this about the demolition contract?”
“No,” I said, getting back into my truck. “It’s about a criminal syndicate running out of Brookfield Elementary.”
With Miller’s cruiser behind me, I felt a fraction of the tension leave my shoulders.
I looked over at Emma.
She was crying silently.
“I’m sorry, Emma,” I said softly.
“Are they bad guys?” she asked.
“Yes. But they aren't going to win.”
I pulled into the massive parking lot of the district administration building.
I didn't wait for an appointment.
I walked past the security desk with Officer Miller right behind me, and I kicked open the heavy oak doors of Robert Sterling’s office.
Sterling was sitting at his desk, pouring a glass of water.
He looked up, surprised, then saw the cop and immediately put his professional mask back on.
“Daniel! Officer. What is the meaning of this?”
I walked up to his desk and slammed the photograph of Tommy’s notebook and the receipt down on the glass.
“It’s over, Robert,” I said.
Sterling looked at the receipt.
He didn't panic. He just smiled.
“Daniel, this is a receipt for school supplies. What does this have to do with me?”
“It has your PAC’s tax ID on it,” I said. “You’re funneling extortion money from low-income parents to fund your political campaigns.”
Sterling leaned back in his leather chair.
“That’s quite an accusation. It’s also completely circumstantial. A clerical error by a foolish principal, at best.”
He picked up the receipt photo and ripped it in half.
“You have nothing, Daniel.”
Then, Emma stepped out from behind Officer Miller.
She was holding her pink diary.
“You’re wrong,” Emma said, her small voice echoing in the large office.
May you like
She opened the diary and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“I took this from Miss Carter’s desk when she wasn't looking,” Emma said.
