Chapter 8: The Wolves Close In
The air in the underground parking garage was thick with exhaust and danger. Vanessa clutched her designer purse tightly against her side as a black SUV pulled up, its tinted windows rolling down to reveal a man with a scarred neck.
“Miss Kensington,” the man grunted. “You’re late. And you’re empty-handed.”
“I have something better than cash, Marcus,” Vanessa said, trying to keep her voice steady despite the trembling in her knees. “You know Arthur Thorne?”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “The embezzler? The one the Feds never found the offshore accounts for? Yeah. Everyone knows Thorne.”
“His daughter just surfaced. Her name is Emily. She’s entirely unprotected.” Vanessa slid a manila folder through the window. Inside was Emily’s address and the location of her mother’s care facility. “Arthur Thorne hid fifty million dollars before he vanished. Do you really think his daughter doesn’t know where it is? Squeeze her. Squeeze the mother. She’ll hand over the fortune, and my five hundred thousand dollar debt is wiped clean.”
Marcus flipped through the folder, a cruel smile touching his lips. “If the girl has Thorne’s money, we’ll find it. But if you’re wasting my time, Vanessa, we’re coming back for you.”
The SUV tires screeched as it sped away, leaving Vanessa alone in the damp garage. She exhaled a shaky breath, a twisted smile forming. Checkmate, Emily.
Hours later, the sun had set, plunging East LA into shadows. Emily had managed to sneak out the back fire escape of her apartment building, evading the journalists. She wore a heavy hoodie, her face obscured, rushing through the rain-slicked streets toward the Oakwood Care Facility. She had to get her mother out. She had to run.
She turned down the dark alleyway behind the clinic, her boots splashing in the puddles.
Suddenly, two headlights flicked on at the end of the alley, blinding her.
Emily froze as the engine revved. Before she could turn around, two heavy car doors slammed. Footsteps echoed against the brick walls, fast and heavy.
“Going somewhere, Miss Thorne?” a gruff voice echoed.
Emily spun around. Three men in dark leather jackets blocked her path. The leader, a man with a thick scar on his neck, cracked his knuckles.
“Leave me alone,” Emily demanded, trying to project a confidence she didn’t feel. “I don't have any money.”
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“That’s not what we hear,” Marcus sneered, pulling a switchblade from his pocket. The blade caught the dim streetlamp, flashing dangerously. “We hear daddy left a nice little nest egg in the Cayman Islands. And since you owe our friend Vanessa a favor, you’re going to tell us exactly how to access it. Now.”
Emily backed up, her spine hitting the cold, wet brick of the clinic wall. She was trapped.
