Chapter 6: The Ghost in the Machine
The white rose on my windshield sent a shockwave through the local police department. Detective Ruiz assigned two uniform officers to patrol the Ava Grace Project, and Dad practically became my shadow. He drove me to work, escorted me to the grocery store, and paced the perimeter of his property every night before dawn.
Despite the heavy security, the psychological warfare continued.
It was subtle at first. My phone would ring at 2:00 AM, but there was only dead air on the line. Small items in my office were moved—a pen placed on the left side of my keyboard instead of the right, a framed picture of Ava turned slightly toward the wall. They were microscopic violations, designed to make me question my own sanity, a tactic straight out of Ryan’s old playbook.
"He’s trying to trigger you," Ruiz explained in my office on a Friday afternoon. "Gaslighting by proxy. If he makes you look unstable, he can petition the court for a new trial, claiming you were an unreliable witness. Or worse, he’s trying to break you down before he makes a real move."
"Who is doing it?" I demanded, gripping the edge of my desk. "Who is the proxy?"
Ruiz slid a manila folder across the desk. "We found an anomaly in the prison’s financial logs. Ryan has been making micro-transactions to a commissary account belonging to an inmate who was released three weeks ago. His name is Marcus Vance."
I opened the folder. A harsh mugshot stared back at me. Marcus Vance had cold, dead eyes and a jagged scar crossing his jawline.
"He’s a former private security contractor," Ruiz continued. "Dishonorably discharged, did time for extortion and aggravated assault. He and Ryan were in the same cell block for six months. Vance is highly trained, completely ruthless, and motivated by money. We think Ryan promised him a massive payday if he terrorizes you."
"But Ryan's assets were frozen," Dad interjected from the doorway, arms crossed. "The feds seized everything. How is he paying this guy?"
"That," Ruiz said, "is the million-dollar question."
The answer came from the most unlikely place: Linda.
Saturday morning, my phone buzzed with an alert from the state penitentiary. An inmate was attempting to call me. I almost rejected it, but something in my gut told me to accept.
"Hello?" I said, my voice steady.
"Emily." The voice was raspy, aged, and hollowed out by three years of incarceration. It was Linda.
"Why are you calling me?" I asked coldly.
"Because my idiot son is going to get himself killed, and he's going to get you killed with him," Linda coughed, a wet, rattling sound. "I saw him on the yard before they moved me to the women's facility. He was talking to Vance. Vance is a monster, Emily. He doesn't just want a payday. He wants the second ledger."
My blood ran cold. "The second ledger?"
"The metal case you gave the police... that was only the domestic accounts," Linda whispered, sounding terrified. "Ryan had offshore accounts. Crypto wallets. Millions of dollars. I hid the hardware key before I was arrested. I didn't trust Ryan not to squander it. Vance knows it exists, and Ryan told him you have it."
"I don't have anything!" I shouted.
"Think, Emily!" Linda hissed. "What was the one thing the police didn't search? What was the one thing you took from the house that day?"
The line went dead.
I stood in the kitchen, paralyzed. What did I take? I had left with nothing but the clothes on my back and Ava. I turned slowly, looking toward the living room where Ava was playing with her toys. In the corner sat the old, faded pink diaper bag Dad had bought the day she came home from the NICU.
No, not the bag.
I sprinted to the garage, throwing open the storage closet. Deep in the back, covered in dust, was the original pink car seat. I pulled it out, my heart hammering against my ribs. I grabbed a utility knife from Dad's workbench and sliced the thick, padded fabric at the base.
My fingers probed the foam padding. Suddenly, they brushed against something hard and metallic.
May you like
I pulled it out. It was a tiny, encrypted USB drive wrapped in electrical tape.
I stared at it, the realization washing over me. Millions of dollars. The missing money. Vance wasn't just trying to scare me; he was hunting this drive. And now that I had it, I was the only thing standing between a trained killer and a fortune.
