Chapter 8 - The Cornered Rat
The next morning, the news hit the local channels. A massive raid by the FBI on the Vargas syndicate. It turned out the ledger I gave them had a tracking device stitched into the spine, and a secondary thumb drive of the contents had already been anonymously forwarded to the FBI field office.
Vargas was going down, but before he did, his men were going to be looking for the man who caused all this trouble.
I didn't have to wait long to see the fallout.
At noon, I drove to Silas’s suburban house. The front door was wide open. The interior was completely trashed. Drawers were pulled out, furniture was slashed, and glass covered the floors.
I found Silas in his home office, huddled in the corner like a frightened animal, clutching a half-empty bottle of scotch. He looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot and wild.
"They're coming for me," he whispered. "Vargas's men. They think I set them up. They took everything. My bank accounts are frozen. My cars are gone."
"You set yourself up, Silas," I said coldly, leaning against the doorframe.
"Help me, Maya. You have the skills. You can hide me. Get me out of the country!"
"Why should I?" I asked. "Two weeks ago, you looked me in the eye in a courtroom and called me a dangerous fraud. You tried to ruin my life out of pure greed. Now, the consequences of your greed have arrived."
I pulled a thick envelope from my jacket and tossed it at his feet.
May you like
"There's ten thousand dollars in cash in there, a fake passport, and a bus ticket to Mexico. It’s a favor from an old friend. You have exactly three hours before Vargas's men come back, or the FBI shows up to arrest you for embezzlement. You take the bag, you run, and you never, ever contact me again."
He stared at the envelope, then at me. He opened his mouth to say something—perhaps an apology, perhaps a curse. I didn't care. I turned my back and walked out.
