Chapter 8 - The Sins of the Son
"He's not answering his phone," I said, refreshing the status on my laptop’s tracking software. I had quietly slipped a tracking beacon into Derek’s luggage three months ago when he had begged me to help him move his apartment across Atlanta—a precaution I had almost forgotten about until tonight. "According to the GPS ping, his phone and his car are currently parked outside a private airfield just twenty miles north of Savannah."
Dad’s head snapped toward me. "An airfield?"
"He’s running," I said, standing up from the desk and grabbing my car keys from the counter. "He got his payout from Meridian Trust this morning, and he’s trying to catch a private charter out of the state before the federal banking freezes catch up to his offshore accounts."
Mom stood up, her face turning pale with horror. "You can't let them catch him, Lexi! He's your brother! If the police get ahold of him—if federal agents pick him up for wire fraud—he'll go to prison for ten years!"
I stopped dead in my tracks, turning to look at my mother with an incredulous stare. Even now—even after everything they had lost, after being relegated to a storage shed while their son lived large on stolen money—she was still trying to protect him.
"Mom, listen to me," I said, stepping closer to her and taking her shaking hands in mine. "Derek didn't just steal money from a corporation. He stole your home. He stole Dad’s workshop. He put you in a room meant for lawn mowers while he drank champagne with people who wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire. If we don't intercept him at that airfield right now, he is going to disappear to the Cayman Islands, and we will spend the rest of our lives paying off debts we didn't create."
Dad stepped up beside me, pulling his old leather business folder off the desk and tucking it securely under his arm. He didn't look at Mom; his gaze was fixed straight ahead, cold and resolute.
"She's right, Carmen," Dad said, his voice deep and final. "We raised a boy who thought he could buy his way out of hard work. It's time we taught him what real accountability looks like."
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Without another word, Mom lowered her head, covered her face, and whispered, "Just... just don't let them hurt him."
We didn't answer. We turned and walked out of the hotel suite, leaving the air conditioning humming in our wake as we headed down to the parking garage.
