Chapter 3 - The Shadow Network-3
At 2:30 PM, a black unmarked Ford Expedition pulled into Gabriel’s driveway. Three men stepped out into the rain, wearing rain jackets and carrying heavy pelican cases.
Frank Vance was a broad-shouldered man in his late sixties with a thick grey mustache and eyes like flint. Behind him were Sarah Jenkins, a former crime scene technician for the state police, and Mark Ross, a master diesel mechanic.
Without wasting words, Frank walked into the house, embraced Gabriel in a brief, heavy bear hug, and looked over at Lucas standing by the kitchen counter.
“The boy looks like Clara,” Frank murmured softly, his eyes softening for a fraction of a second before turning cold as steel. “Where’s the rig?”
“In the side bay,” Gabriel said. “Brake lines are sliced.”
Mark Ross immediately grabbed a portable inspection light and headed out to the garage. Sarah set her pelican cases on the dining table and began assembling photographic equipment and evidence collection kits.
For the next four hours, Gabriel’s house was transformed into a professional forensic operation.
Sarah dusted the master bedroom nightstand, the padlock mounts on the closet, and the basement chair for fingerprints. She collected hair samples, latent prints from the "WIDOWS" folder, and preserved the physical evidence of the cut brake lines that Mark pulled from the semi-truck.
By 7:00 PM, Mark walked into the kitchen, wiping his grease-stained hands on a rag.
“It’s a professional sabotage job, Gabriel,” Mark reported, laying the severed rubber hose on a plastic specimen tray. “Whoever cut this used an industrial hose cutter. They scored it at a 45-degree angle. It was timed to blow after about three hundred miles of heavy heat build-up. You were meant to go off a cliff or hit a wall at seventy miles an hour.”
Frank took the specimen tray, examined it, and set it down. He pulled up a chair across from Gabriel.
“I ran the names from that 'WIDOWS' folder through my federal contact database while Sarah was dusting,” Frank said, dropping a thick stack of printed papers onto the table. “Arthur Vance and Harold Jenkins... both of their deaths were ruled natural or accidental by local coroners. But guess who signed both death certificates?”
Gabriel looked at the papers. “Dr. Harrison.”
“Bingo,” Frank said grimly. “Dr. Thomas Harrison. He runs a private practice in Upper Arlington. He’s been receiving monthly 'consulting fees' from a shell company registered in Nevada called Sunrise Horizon LLC.”
“And who owns Sunrise Horizon LLC?” Gabriel asked.
“Candice,” Frank replied. “Co-owned by her mother, Evelyn, and her sister, Patricia. They’ve been running this ring for over a decade, Gabriel. They target older men with significant life insurance policies or valuable real estate, move in as caring wives or caretakers, isolate the children or family members, and then collect the payouts when the husbands die of 'sudden health failures' certified by Harrison.”
Gabriel felt his teeth grind together until his jaw ached. “What about Wyatt?”
“Wyatt isn't just Candice’s nephew,” Frank revealed, tapping a photo on the paper. “Wyatt is Patricia’s son. They use the boy as an inside enforcer to bully and break the spirits of the target's children, making sure the kids are too terrified to tell anyone what's going on.”
Lucas sat quietly beside Gabriel, listening to every word. The fear in the boy’s eyes was slowly being replaced by something else—a quiet, burning sense of reality. He wasn't crazy. He wasn't weak. He had been the victim of a calculated criminal syndicate operating inside his own home.
“They think they’re coming back on Sunday to find a clean house and a quiet kid,” Gabriel said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “They think I’m dead in a ravine outside Phoenix.”
Frank leaned back, a dark smile spreading across his face beneath his grey mustache.
“They don't know you returned early,” Frank said. “And as far as the shipping company in Phoenix knows, your truck is still en route.”
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Gabriel looked at Frank, then at Sarah, and finally down at his son.
“We’re not waiting for Sunday,” Gabriel said softly. “We’re going to let them enjoy Miami. And while they’re on the beach, we’re going to dismantle their entire world, dollar by dollar, document by document.”
