Chapter 25 - THE MAN AT THE REARVIEW MIRROR
"What collector?" Claire demanded, stepping instinctively between Julian and Lily, her fingers closing around the heavy cast-iron skillet resting on the stovetop. "Julian, stay back! I swear to God, don't take another step toward my daughter!"
Julian stopped. He blinked, looking at the skillet, then down at Lily, who peeked out from behind Claire’s jeans. His expression softened into a bizarre, childlike confusion.
"I gave her the ring so she’d be safe," Julian muttered, wiping wet clay from his forehead with the sleeve of his coat. "The ring is the proof. If she wore the ring, the men in the black sedan wouldn't touch her. Margaret promised."
"Margaret lied to you, Julian!" Daniel shouted, lunging forward and grabbing his brother by the shoulders. "She used you! She’s sitting in county lockup orchestrating this whole nightmare! There is no collector! She wants the bonds so her defense lawyers can post her bail and smuggle her out through Canada!"
"No," Julian said stubbornly, shaking Daniel off with surprising strength. "Not Margaret’s lawyers. The man who drives the black car. He was there thirty years ago, Danny. Don't you remember? The man with the scarred neck who sold Father the offshore companies? He didn't want Arthur dead. He wanted Arthur's ledger. When Margaret killed Arthur, the debt didn't vanish. It doubled."
A sudden realization struck Claire like a physical blow.
The packages on the porch. The unregistered deliveries. The shadow in the rearview mirror that had followed them from their old apartment three states away. It hadn't been Margaret’s hired investigators.
It was the people Arthur Vance owed money to before he vanished.
Suddenly, the exterior floodlights on the detached garage flared to life. Through the kitchen window, cutting through the sheets of rain, two blinding beams of halogen headlights pierced the dark driveway.
A black, full-sized SUV sat idling ten yards from their porch.
The driver didn't honk. He didn't turn off the high beams. He simply sat there, engine rumbling like a caged beast, waiting for the front door to open.
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"They tracked the ring's GPS," Claire whispered in horror, remembering the micro-SD card and the metallic setting. "The ring wasn't just jewelry. It was a beacon."
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