Chapter 1 - The Paper in the WalletThe hum of Marcus Drew’s voice over the phone line felt colder than the rain beating against my kitchen window.
"Tell them I know where they are. And tell them poor men who play hero usually end up losing more than they can afford."
The line went dead with a sharp, digital click.
I lowered the phone slowly, setting it face down on the scarred oak table. Across from me, Jade sat frozen, her dark eyes reflecting the harsh overhead light of the kitchen. Lily had stopped crying, her small hands clutching the green flannel shirt around her chest as she looked between her sister and me.
“It was him, wasn’t it?” Jade asked quietly. Her voice didn’t tremble. It was flat, hard, and steady—the voice of a woman who had spent eleven weeks learning how to bleed without screaming.
“Yeah,” I said. “It was Marcus.”
“How did he find us?” Lily whispered, her eyes wide with terror. “We didn’t tell anyone we were coming to Harlow.”
“Men like Marcus don’t need you to tell them where you’re going,” I replied, keeping my voice level. “They pay people to track license plates, check cell towers, and monitor bank cards. But knowing where we are and doing something about it are two very different things.”
Jade leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “Owen, he threatened you. You don’t have to get dragged into this. My father’s note... he just wanted us to find someone honest if we were stranded. He didn’t expect you to fight a billionaire’s legal team for us.”
I looked at her—really looked at her. In the soft light of my small kitchen, with rainwater still drying in her dark hair, she looked exhausted, but beneath that exhaustion was an unyielding spine of steel.
“Your father stopped his truck on Route 40 nine years ago when everyone else drove past,” I said softly. “He gave me a chance when I had nothing in my pockets except a flat tire and a dead battery. I don’t owe him a favor, Jade. I owe him my life. And I’m not stepping aside.”
A faint, subtle shift softened the tension in Jade’s posture. She didn’t smile, but her hand moved across the table, her fingers briefly brushing against mine.
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“So what’s our next move?” she asked.
“Tomorrow morning,” I said, “we go see Pete Marsh.”
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