Continue the story by reading Chapter Two...

The ocean breeze blowing across the resort patio felt suddenly ice-cold against Candice’s skin. The ambient noise of laughter, distant waves, and soft dinner music faded into a loud, ringing silence in her ears.

“Gabriel...” Candice stammered, her voice cracking as she clutched the phone tight against her ear. “Gabriel, honey... you’re supposed to be in Arizona... what are you talking about? What folder?”

“I’m talking about Arthur Vance,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping to a low, lethal hum that vibrated through the speaker. “I’m talking about Harold Jenkins. And I’m talking about the sliced air-brake line on my Volvo rig.”

Candice took a step back, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her. She reached out and grabbed the back of a chair to steady herself.

Evelyn stood up beside her, her sharp eyes narrowed in dark suspicion. “Candice! Who is that? What’s going on?”

Candice ignored her mother. “Gabriel... listen to me... you’re confused. You’ve been driving too long. Whatever you think you found, it’s not what it looks like—”

“I found Clara’s engagement ring in your safety deposit box, Candice,” Gabriel interrupted coldly. “I found the pawn shop receipts for my wife’s jewelry. And I found the padlocks you put on my son’s closet door.”

A choke of terror escaped Candice’s throat.

“Where is Lucas?” she gasped, her eyes darting around the resort as if federal agents were about to step out from behind the palm trees.

“Lucas is with me,” Gabriel said. “He’s eating oatmeal pancakes. He’s wearing clean clothes. And he’s watching me pack your things into trash bags.”

“You can’t do this!” Candice suddenly shrieked, her composed, arrogant facade shattering into pure rage. “That is my house! Half of everything in that place belongs to me! You turn those credit cards back on right now, Gabriel, or so help me God—”

“You have no house, Candice,” Gabriel said smoothly. “The prenuptial agreement you signed three years ago—the one you thought didn't cover real estate—had a felony fraud nullification clause. Victoria Vance filed it with the county recorder two hours ago. The deed is held exclusively in the Lawson Family Trust.”

“You bastard!” Candice screamed into the phone.

“Pack your bags, Candice,” Gabriel said softly. “You have a long drive back to Columbus. Because if you’re not back here by Sunday morning to face the police... the FBI will pick you up at the airport.”

The line went dead.

Candice stood frozen, holding the silent phone against her ear. Sweat was ruinously dripping through her expensive foundation makeup.

“Candice!” Evelyn snapped, grabbing her daughter’s arm forcefully. “Talk to me right now! What did he say? What does he know?!”

“He knows everything,” Candice whispered, her eyes wide with unadulterated terror. “He found the folder. He found the bank boxes. He knows about the brake lines.”

Patricia gasped, grabbing Wyatt’s arm. “The brake lines?! You said he’d be dead in Arizona by noon today!”

“He returned early!” Candice yelled, turning on her sister. “He didn't take the heavy steel load! He drove back empty!”

“We have to leave,” Evelyn declared instantly, her voice cold, hard, and ruthless. The old woman showed no panic, only pure survival instinct. “We leave the hotel right now. We take the rental car and drive to the private airfield in Fort Lauderdale. We have the offshore accounts in Grand Cayman.”

“The bank cards are frozen, Mom!” Candice cried out, tears of rage finally spilling over her cheeks. “Every single account is locked!”

Evelyn reached inside her expensive leather handbag, pulled out a small, velvet-lined pouch, and unzipped it. Inside were five high-grade bearer bonds worth $50,000 each—untaceable, physical paper assets she always carried for emergencies.

“I didn't spend forty years building this network to be ruined by a long-haul trucker,” Evelyn spat, her eyes cold as flint. “We drive back to Ohio tonight. Not to surrender... but to finish what we started.”

Wyatt looked at his mother, panic setting into his teenage eyes. “Mom? Are we going to jail?”