Chapter 6 - The Perfect Fall Guy
Margaret arrived at the hospital before sunrise.
She was sixty-eight, silver-haired, five feet two inches tall, and the only person I had ever seen make my father nervous without raising her voice.
She placed three folders on the table.
“Preston opened an account using Sophie’s Social Security number.”
My stomach turned.
“How?”
Margaret looked toward Ethan.
He couldn’t meet my eyes.
I understood immediately.
“You had access.”
Ethan whispered, “Your tax folder.”
I stepped toward him.
“You stole my daughter’s Social Security number?”
“I copied it.”
“For Preston?”
“Yes.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, my voice became frighteningly calm.
“You will never come near her again.”
Ethan nodded once.
“You understand?”
“Yes.”
“No birthday cards. No calls. No showing up at school. Nothing.”
His face crumpled.
“I understand.”
Margaret opened another document.
“Money moved through Sophie’s account for fourteen minutes before being transferred overseas.”
“So they could blame her?”
“Not exactly. An eight-year-old obviously didn’t conduct international transfers.”
“Then why use her?”
“To point the investigation toward you.”
I stared at her.
“Me?”
“You control her legal and financial identity. If auditors discovered the account after the sale, Preston could claim you created it.”
Everything clicked.
Frame Sophie for theft.
Force me to sign away my voting rights.
Sell Whitmore Holdings.
Then, if the missing money was ever discovered, point investigators at me.
They weren’t only stealing my company.
They were building a prison cell around me.
Sophie woke around six.
She touched the bandage on her head.
“Is Uncle Preston coming back?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
She looked at Ethan through the window.
“Why is Ethan crying?”
I took her hand.
“Because he hurt us.”
“Did he put the bracelet in my coat?”
I couldn’t lie.
“Yes.”
Her lip trembled.
“He said he loved me.”
I had no answer that wouldn’t make the world sound uglier than an eight-year-old deserved.
So I said the truth.
“Sometimes people say love when what they really mean is that they like how you make them feel.”
Sophie thought about that.
“That’s not the same.”
“No.”
She squeezed my fingers.
“Then I don’t want fake love anymore.”
Neither did I.
At 7:12 a.m., Detective Reyes entered.
“We found Preston’s car.”
“Where?”
“Near Midway.”
“Did you arrest him?”
“He wasn’t inside.”
My heart sank.
“The driver said Preston switched vehicles.”
“Where did he go?”
“We’re working on it.”
She handed me a printed screenshot.
Security footage from the hotel garage showed Preston climbing into a dark SUV.
The driver’s face was visible.
I recognized him immediately.
My father.
Charles Whitmore had lied when police questioned him.
Then helped Preston escape.
But that wasn’t what made my stomach drop.
In the passenger seat was my mother.
And resting on her lap was a black document case containing the original Whitmore company records.
My parents weren’t helping their son run away.
May you like
They were running with him.
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