“What, you don’t think we can take an armed cop and two guys in riot gear?” He shrugged.
“You’re the one that let two deputies arrest us.” I stood and walked over to present my wrists for the handcuffs.
“I was hungover—and asleep,” Brody grunted as he presented his wrists as well.
The handcuffs were put on, followed by shackles on our ankles that were attached to the chain between our wrists. They weren’t taking any chances—not that I could blame them. In their eyes, we were very dangerous men. I stared straight ahead as we were walked to the front door. I halfway expected a sniper to take us out, but there were no tall buildings around. They brought an armored car with two cages in the back for transport—they definitely weren’t holding anything back. I climbed up into mine and Brody did the same. All we could do was stare at each other as we made the long ride back to the city.
“One last look at the sun…” Brody muttered as he stared out the window.
“Yeah.” I sighed. “It just might be.”
I’ve never felt my faith in Anabelle waiver, but I’m afraid she may be too late. Maybe it was a bad idea to let her attempt this alone.
No.
I believe in her. She’s no longer the woman who looked at her father through rose-colored glasses.
I’ll trust in our love until my last dying breath—even if it comes sooner than I expected.
Anabelle
I tried to stop my father. I begged him to take me along. He refused. I knew what was going to happen if he made it to Brody and Rourke before I found a way to stop him. I ran back to my room as soon as he was gone and loaded up my laptop. I turned on the television, so I could monitor the story about their arrest—and any developments. I hoped those developments wouldn’t be their untimely demise. Time wasn’t on my side. Actually, nothing was on my side. I started going through the documents—testing passwords against the encryption. It wasn’t like his password. It required sixteen letters to unlock—at least—it could even be numbers. I didn’t know anyone with a name that could be used. I tried Isabella’s name, my full name, my father’s name, my mother’s full name with her maiden name and Prescott. Not
hing.
“Come on…” I hammered the keys with my hand. “Think, Anabelle—think. What the fuck would he use.”
I closed my eyes and tried to think about my father—everything I knew—everything he had talked to me about my whole life. Bits and pieces gave me new combinations to try, but they were all met with the same red screen.
Access Denied.
Then it hit me. There was one thing my father preached—it was even on the wall in the living room. Family comes first. I typed it in with no spaces. I held my breath as I waited for the same red screen, but that wasn’t what I got. I got a green box.
Access Granted.
I was in. That was only half the battle. The files were complex and most of them were sensitive documents about the company. I started scanning them as fast as possible, looking for something—anything. I literally needed a smoking gun. I wasn’t going to find that in business documents. I ran down the hall to my father’s study. I unlocked his computer and used the new password to get into more of the encrypted files—stuff that wouldn’t fit on my flash drive. It was more of the same—financial stuff, transactions, normal stuff that people would want encrypted.
There has to be something. I’m sure there are business deals in here that are shady, but it would take a forensic accountant days—possibly months to analyze them. I don’t have that kind of time.
I kept scouring the encrypted files, feeling my heart beating so hard that I thought I was going to pass out—until I got to the bottom. There was a folder labeled footage. I clicked it and my jaw fell open. It was hours upon hours of recordings from Prescott Manor and most of it took place in my father’s study. I had no idea he had a camera in there. He recorded all of his meetings with his business associates. I scrolled and scrolled—looking for one specific date. The date he killed John. I found it and held my breath as I clicked on the video.
He wouldn’t keep that video—surely not.
To my surprise, he did. My father really did believe he was untouchable. There was video footage of him shooting John, video footage of me arriving with Brody and Rourke—video footage of him immediately trying to pin the murder on them. The audio wasn’t the best, but the video confirmed that John didn’t even know the bullet was coming. He was sitting in front of my father having a casual conversation. My father pulled a gun out of his desk, said something about payback, and as soon as John stood, he shot him.
This is what I need. It’s exactly what I need. But I have to get it in the right hands—I don’t know if I can trust the police or the District Attorney. I don’t know who is in my father’s back pocket.
The media. They would run the story—they would play the video. I started searching every news station I could find and collecting email addresses. After I had about a dozen of them, I started an email—an email from my father’s account. I titled it: My Confession. With one click of a button, the video was out in the world. I didn’t want to leave anything to chance though, so I sent it to the police and the District Attorney for good measure. They would have to act on it once the video became breaking news. They wouldn’t have a choice.
All I can do is wait, but I’m not going to wait here. That’s too risky. I don’t know what my father will do when he realizes I’ve violated the sacred motto—I certainly didn’t put family first.
I grabbed what I could from my room, put my laptop in a bag, along with a few necessities and planned my escape. I walked downstairs and grabbed the keys to one of my father’s cars. A bodyguard tried to follow me, but I quickened my pace and got the car before he did. The men at the front gate started opening it as soon as they saw me approach. They didn’t realize I was all alone—and they were violating a direct order not to let me leave the house without a bodyguard—until it was too late.
I got away, now I just have to hope that I’ve done enough to save Brody and Rourke from my father.
I was pretty sure they would be taken to the police station first, but I didn’t know that with absolute certainty. I just wanted to be as close as possible when they were finally released. I found a parking spot that was close enough to the entrance for me to get a good view and put my laptop against the steering wheel. My fingers went to my lips instinctively and I started chewing on my nails. I hadn’t done that since I was a little girl—a bad habit my father forced me to break by having them painted with bitter polish. I stared at the screen and waited—hoping—praying.
A crowd is gathering. Maybe that’s a good sign. The media wants to get a good shot of them being paraded by in handcuffs—I’m sure they’ll make a spectacle of it.