Chapter 13 - The Hangar
Alan Pierce was not arrested at the airport.
He was found unconscious inside Whitmore Market Group’s private hangar, his wrists zip-tied behind him.
Michael Larkin was gone.
By the time Emma heard the news, Detective Keene had already reached the scene.
Alan woke in the ambulance furious, terrified, and demanding a lawyer.
“He says Larkin turned on him,” Keene reported by phone. “Claims Larkin stole the remaining cash and tried to force him to sign over access to two offshore accounts.”
Eleanor snorted. “Criminals discovering loyalty. How touching.”
Michael rubbed both hands over his face. “Can Pierce prove Larkin has the money?”
“Maybe. He says Larkin keeps a second ledger.”
Emma thought of Freezer Three. “Another binder?”
“Digital. Encrypted.”
Marissa spoke from the far end of the room. “I know where it is.”
Everyone turned.
She looked sick.
“Alan once made me deliver a laptop to a storage unit in Somerville. He said it contained backup vendor records. I never opened it.”
“Address?” Keene asked through the speaker.
Marissa gave it.
Police obtained access within an hour.
The storage unit contained no laptop.
It contained something worse.
Boxes of employee files.
Hundreds of them.
Disciplinary reports. Medical leave requests. Payroll disputes. Complaints. Copies of IDs. Notes about who needed overtime and who had sick parents, debt, immigration problems, or children in college.
Emma’s file was there too.
On the front, someone had written:
MOTHER — RENT PRESSURE.
COLLEGE APPLICATION PENDING.
LIKELY TO COMPLY IF HOURS THREATENED.
Emma read the photograph of that note and felt rage replace fear.
“They studied us.”
Marissa nodded. “Alan believed every employee had a pressure point.”
Eleanor’s voice shook. “That man worked for my family for nineteen years.”
Michael looked at his mother. “He’s done.”
“No,” Eleanor said. “Done is getting fired. He’s going to answer for what he did.”
Emma’s phone rang.
This time the caller ID showed MOM.
She answered immediately.
“Hey, I’m okay. I’m sorry I didn’t call—”
A man’s voice interrupted.
“Emma.”
She froze.
It was not her mother.
“Who is this?”
“You know who.”
Michael Larkin.
Emma’s blood turned cold.
In the background, she heard her mother say, “Don’t do what he says, Emma!”
Then a sharp sound cut her off.
Emma stood so fast her chair fell backward.
“If you hurt her—”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Larkin said. “I want the silver drive Marissa gave you.”
Emma looked at the table.
May you like
The drive was gone.
And so was Marissa Lane.
