Chapter 5 - THE RENO RECKONING
-5-
The holding facility at the Washoe County Sheriff’s substation in downtown Reno smelled heavily of industrial floor wax, old coffee, and the quiet, crushing despair of men who had spent their entire lives believing they were above the law.
Richard parked the battered Ford pickup in the back alley behind the precinct, right beneath a flickering security camera that was currently being fed a continuous loop of recycled static by a micro-router Richard had plugged into the junction box twenty minutes prior.
“You sure you want to go in there, Vic?” Richard asked, turning off the ignition. The engine pinged as the metal cooled in the crisp morning air. Eli was fast asleep again, curled up across the vinyl seat with his head resting heavily in my lap, clutching his dinosaur blanket like a shield. “Arthur’s lawyers are already swarming the lobby like blowflies on a fresh carcass. If he sees you now, his handlers might try to pull a stunt.”
“Let them try,” I said, sliding the heavy silver signet ring back onto my thumb. The metal felt warm now—grounded and steady. “He spent thirty years making sure no one could touch him. The least I can do is be there to watch the foundation crumble.”
We walked through the heavy glass double doors of the precinct lobby just as a battery of local news cameras began flashing blindingly toward the elevator bank. Two federal marshals in dark tactical vests were escorting my father down the hall.
Arthur Vance didn't look like an untouchable real estate titan anymore. His expensive silk tie was gone, his collar was unbuttoned, and his silver hair was wild and disheveled around his temples. But the moment his cold, slate-gray eyes locked onto mine through the crowd of reporters and camera operators, the facade didn't crack—it hardened into pure, venomous hatred.
“Victoria!” he shouted, straining against the grip of the federal marshals as flashbulbs popped like lightning in a summer storm. “You ungrateful, treacherous little bitch! You’ve ruined everything! You don't even know what you've unleased—they'll tear this entire state apart before they let those files see a courtroom!”
“That’s the general idea, Dad,” I said, stepping forward until I was standing less than three feet away from him, my voice carrying clearly over the shouting of the reporters. “You wanted to leave us in the cold where nobody could hear us scream. Turns out, the desert has a very loud echo.”
Before he could lunge forward, the marshals tightened their grip, hauling him down the corridor toward the arraignment chambers with heavy, rhythmic boots echoing against the linoleum.
My mother was brought out a minute later, flanked by a female officer. Her perfect makeup was smeared down her cheeks where tears had finally cut through the foundation, and her designer handbag—the one containing my stolen wallet and apartment keys—was clutched tightly to her chest like a lifeline. When she saw me standing by the front desk with Richard, she stopped dead in her tracks, her lips trembling as she opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
“Keep the wallet, Mom,” I said quietly as she was led past. “There’s nothing in it I need anymore.”
We turned and walked back out into the bright Reno sunlight, the crisp mountain air filling our lungs with a clean, sharp clarity.
Richard held open the passenger door of the truck for us, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across his weathered face. “Well, kiddo,” he said, leaning against the frame of the door. “What’s our next move? Sacramento is still a crime scene courtesy of Arthur’s corporate shells, and your apartment keys are sitting in an evidence locker downtown.”
I looked down at Eli, who was waking up slowly, blinking his big brown eyes against the morning light and smiling up at me without a trace of fear left in his face.
“We aren't going back to Sacramento, Uncle Richard,” I said, sliding into the truck and pulling my son onto my lap. “We’re heading south to the coast. I hear the Pacific has a much better view than the desert, and I’m done letting other people write the story of our lives.”
May you like
Richard laughed, slamming the truck door shut and sliding behind the steering wheel as the engine roared back to life.
“Then let’s hit the road,” he said, shifting into gear. “The future’s waiting, and I hear it looks a whole lot brighter from this side of the mountain.”
