Chapter 4 - The Mother-in-Law
If "Margaret" thought she could dismiss me over the phone and vanish into the ether, she severely underestimated how fast a desperate father could move, and how violently an actuary could snap when the variables of his life were destroyed.
We drove to Margaret’s upscale condo in the wealthy suburb of Lake Oswego. We didn't bother knocking. Julian used a lock-pick gun, snapping the deadbolt in less than ten seconds. I kicked the door open, the heavy wood slamming against the drywall.
The condo was stripped bare. The expensive art was off the walls, the rugs were gone, and the safe in the hallway was hanging open. Margaret was in the master bedroom, frantically shoving stacks of cash and jewelry into a designer duffel bag.
She froze as we entered, her cold, calculating eyes darting to the heavy Maglite flashlight in Julian's hand. For a woman in her late sixties, she looked remarkably composed. There was no fear in her expression, only supreme irritation.
"I told you, Thomas," she said, her voice like grinding glass. "It's not our concern anymore. You should have stayed in Seattle. The brake lines on your rental car were supposed to snap on the I-5."
"Who the hell are you?" I demanded, closing the distance and kicking her duffel bag across the room. Stacks of hundred-dollar bills spilled onto the carpet.
Margaret chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Does it matter? You’re a mark, Thomas. A fat, comfortable pig for the slaughter. You just had a nice pension, a great life insurance policy, and a predictable routine."
"Where is Vanessa?" Julian barked, stepping forward.
"She’s gone," Margaret sneered. "She was supposed to handle you, but the fixer we hired—the idiot in your wall—decided he wanted double the payout. He threatened to take the girl. Vanessa handled him, but it ruined the timeline. She had to abort the hit on you."
I felt a violent surge of rage. I grabbed Margaret by the collar of her silk blouse and slammed her against the wall. "You left a six-year-old covered in blood in a thunderstorm!"
"She was a prop!" Margaret screamed back, her mask slipping. "A necessary accessory to make you believe in the perfect family! Vanessa didn't want the kid. We only kept her because it made you trust us!"
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Before I could react, Margaret lunged for a small silver revolver hidden under a pillow on the bed. Julian was faster. He swung the Maglite, striking her wrist with a sickening crack. Margaret dropped the gun, howling in pain as she collapsed to the floor.
"Tie her up," Julian ordered coldly. "We're going to make her talk."
