Chapter 14 - Desperate Measures
The neon sign of the Pine Crest Motel buzzed and flickered against the darkening winter sky, casting an sickly pink glow across the peeling wallpaper of Room 114.
David Vance sat on the edge of the saggy double bed, his head buried in his hands. The air in the room was thick with despair. On the small dresser sat a single plastic bag containing what little clothing they had managed to salvage before the local towing company hauled away their luxury SUVs.
“David, we have to do something,” Olivia hissed, pacing back and forth across the threadbare carpet, her makeup smudged and her hair unwashed for three days. “The motel manager was just at the door threatening to throw us out into the snow if we don't pay cash for another night. Where is your father? Can’t he call someone? Anyone?”
“My father is seventy-four years old, Olivia!” David snapped, his head snapping up, his eyes bloodshot and filled with blind panic. “His house is gone, his bank accounts are seized, and he’s currently lying on the other bed staring at the ceiling like a ghost! Who do you expect him to call? Our friends? They’ve already blocked our numbers the second the news about Vanguard Capital hit the financial blogs!”
Olivia stopped pacing, her breath catching in her throat. “There has to be something left. What about cash reserves? Safety deposit boxes?”
“Everything was tied to the Sacramento mortgage equity,” David said bitterly, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “We spent James’s survivor fund on a high-risk options trade thinking we’d double it before she ever came back from deployment. We didn't just lose our money—we gambled away everything my sister legally inherited, and now the federal government thinks we’re part of Marcus’s syndicate.”
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the room, broken only by the distant hum of traffic on Route 50 and the old radiator clanking in the corner.
Suddenly, David’s phone—a burner prepaid device they had bought at a local gas station—buzzed loudly against the nightstand.
David froze. He stared at the screen, where an unknown, restricted number flashed in bright, harsh light.
“Answer it,” Olivia whispered, stepping closer, her eyes wide with a mix of dread and morbid curiosity. “It might be... it might be a way out.”
With trembling fingers, David reached out, swiped the screen, and pressed the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“You’re running out of runway, David,” a cold, synthesized voice echoed through the speaker.
David’s breath hitched. “Who is this? What do you want?”
“I want what’s left of the offshore ledger data that Marcus didn't have time to wipe,” the voice replied smoothly. “Bring it to the old logging camp off Forest Road 4 at midnight. Come alone. If you bring the police, or if you bring your father... you’ll spend the rest of your natural lives in a federal supermax facility.”
May you like
Click.
The line went dead. David dropped the phone onto the blanket, his whole body shaking as cold sweat beaded across his forehead.
