Chapter 9 - THE PRICE OF REVENGE
We did not chase him ourselves.
That mattered.
Old Claire would have.
Old Claire would have believed love required immediate action, no matter how reckless.
Detective Sloan called state police.
Daniel contacted the security team.
Federal agents traced Dad’s vehicle.
We followed only after law enforcement established a response plan.
By the time we arrived near the old warehouse, police had blocked the road.
My father’s car sat outside.
Driver’s door open.
No sign of him.
The warehouse had been empty for fifteen years.
Whitmore Capital once financed agricultural distribution through the site before moving operations.
Nathan knew the place.
He and Dad had toured it together early in our marriage.
I remembered bringing sandwiches.
That memory felt obscene now.
A tactical team entered.
Twenty-three minutes later, they emerged.
No Dad.
No Nathan.
Inside, officers found Dad’s phone smashed on the floor.
Beside it sat an envelope.
My name written across the front.
Detective Sloan opened it with gloves.
Inside was a handwritten note.
You wanted me destroyed. Now choose what destruction costs.
Below that:
Call Vanessa.
My stomach tightened.
We did.
No answer.
Police checked the secure hotel.
Vanessa was gone.
Her assigned officer had found her room empty shortly before our call.
Security cameras showed her leaving voluntarily through a service elevator.
“Why?” I whispered.
Sloan replied, “We don’t know.”
My phone rang.
Nathan.
Sloan signaled the trace team.
I answered.
“Nathan.”
His voice sounded calm.
Too calm.
“You finally sound afraid.”
“Where’s my father?”
“With me.”
“Is he hurt?”
“Not yet.”
I closed my eyes.
“What do you want?”
“My company back.”
“You don’t have a company.”
“Your father’s votes made that happen. His votes can reverse it.”
“That’s not how corporate governance works.”
Nathan laughed.
“You always were smarter after someone explained things to you.”
The cruelty was familiar.
The effect was not.
He could no longer define me with it.
“What do you want from me?”
“Public statement. Your father signs voting instructions. You withdraw the assault complaint.”
“I can’t withdraw a criminal investigation.”
“You can refuse to cooperate.”
“You cut my brake line.”
“Prove it.”
Sloan’s eyes narrowed.
He had volunteered information.
I had never accused him directly of cutting it.
The trace team kept working.
Nathan continued.
“You made this ugly, Claire.”
“No. You did.”
“You called your father and told him to destroy me.”
The words hit.
Because he was right about one thing.
I had.
I looked at Detective Sloan.
Then Dad’s abandoned car.
“I said that in pain.”
“But you said it.”
“Yes.”
Nathan went silent.
I continued.
“And I was wrong.”
He laughed.
“Convenient.”
“No.”
I spoke slowly.
“I wanted your company to collapse because you hurt me. I forgot eleven thousand people worked there.”
Nobody around me moved.
“I wanted revenge more than justice for one hour.”
Nathan replied, “What’s the difference?”
That was the question.
The one he had never learned to ask.
“Revenge needs you to suffer.”
I looked toward the warehouse.
“Justice needs you to stop hurting people.”
Nathan was quiet.
Then he whispered, “You always did love sounding righteous.”
The call disconnected.
The trace failed.
Too short.
But Nathan had made a second mistake.
He mentioned the brake line.
Sloan immediately contacted prosecutors.
Vanessa called twenty minutes later.
She was crying.
“I’m sorry.”
“Where are you?”
“He made me leave.”
“How?”
“He sent pictures of my sister.”
Of course.
Fear again.
Always leverage.
“Are you with him now?”
“No.”
“Where’s my father?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know?”
“He told me to bring him something from the storage unit.”
“What?”
“The aluminum case.”
My mind flashed back.
The case.
We had never opened it.
Police evidence technicians had taken it.
“What was inside?”
“I don’t know.”
Vanessa breathed shakily.
“But Nathan thinks you have it.”
Sloan motioned toward an agent.
He began making calls.
Vanessa continued.
“Claire, there’s one place he used to talk about.”
“Where?”
“An abandoned rail terminal outside Gary.”
Daniel looked up.
Cross Meridian had leased one years ago.
We sent the location.
Police moved.
Thirty minutes later, agents found the terminal.
Empty.
But there was blood on the floor.
Not much.
Enough.
And beside it lay my father’s watch.
I recognized the engraving.
My mother had given it to him on their thirtieth anniversary.
I pressed my hand to my mouth.
Detective Sloan crouched beside something else.
A phone.
She activated the screen.
A video was already loaded.
Nathan appeared.
Behind him, my father sat tied to a chair.
Nathan leaned toward the camera.
“If Claire wants Richard alive, she brings the case herself.”
Then my father lifted his head.
Blood marked one side of his face.
He looked directly into the camera.
And shouted one sentence before Nathan struck him.
May you like
“CLAIRE, DON’T BRING HIM THE CASE!”
The video ended.
