Chapter 6 - The Confession of Marcus Vance
By 3:00 a.m., Daniel was sitting on the concrete floor of Marcus’s garage, twenty miles away in the affluent suburb of Hinsdale.
Marcus was pacing back and forth in a wrinkled tracksuit, nursing a glass of straight bourbon, his face gray with panic. His wife and children were asleep upstairs, completely unaware that their comfortable, country-club life was balanced on the edge of a cliff.
“My uncle?” Marcus whispered, clutching his hair with both hands. “You’re telling me she hired Uncle Robert?!”
“He’s the one who signed the cover letter, Marcus!” Daniel yelled, his voice strained and cracking. “He has the notarized equity transfer! He has your stamp number, the logbook discrepancies, everything!”
Marcus stopped pacing, staring at Daniel with pure hatred. “You told me it was just a technicality! You told me Sarah had agreed to the second mortgage to cover the down payment on the medical office building!”
“It doesn't matter what I told you!” Daniel snapped, lunging to his feet. “What matters is what we do right now! We need a plan. Can you get your uncle on the phone? Can you tell him this is a family misunderstanding? Tell him Sarah is having a psychological episode!”
Marcus let out a derisive, bitter laugh that ended in a choke. “A psychological episode? Robert doesn't take cases because of family drama, Dan. He takes cases because he smells blood. If he took Sarah’s file, it means the evidence is bulletproof. He wouldn't risk his reputation on a hunch. And he hates me! He hasn't spoken to my father in ten years because of a disputed estate sale! If he has an opportunity to put me in front of a federal grand jury, he’ll do it with a smile on his face!”
“Then what do we do?” Daniel demanded, grabbing Marcus’s collar. “I have nothing left! My accounts are frozen! Julianna is turning state’s evidence! Sarah took my son, my cash, my passport—everything!”
Marcus violently shoved Daniel off him, sending him stumbling back against a stack of winter tires.
“You stay the hell away from me!” Marcus hissed. “You brought this into my house! You used my signature to steal from your own wife and kid! I was an idiot to trust you, but I’m not going down to protect your mistress’s jewelry budget!”
“Marcus—”
“Get out,” Marcus said, his voice dropping into a cold, flat register.
“What?”
“Get out of my garage before I call the local police and report you for trespassing,” Marcus said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I’m calling a criminal defense lawyer at six in the morning. And when Robert’s office contacts me, I’m telling them the complete truth. You brought me the document, you swore under oath that your wife was in the car with a migraine, and you misled me into executing a fraudulent notarization.”
“That’s perjury!” Daniel yelled.
“It’s a plea deal!” Marcus shouted back. “It’s the difference between probation and five years in federal prison! Now get the hell out of my sight!”
Daniel looked at his oldest friend. The brotherhood, the shared victories, the arrogant laughter over expensive dinners—it had evaporated into thin air the second the legal consequences materialized.
There was no loyalty among men whose lives were built on sand.
Daniel backed out of the garage, the cold autumn rain lashing his face once again. He climbed into his SUV, the engine turning over with a low, mechanical growl.
He sat in the dark driveway, watching the security lights of Marcus’s mansion click off.
He pulled out the cheap burner phone.
There was only one contact stored in the digital phonebook. A single entry:
SARAH.
May you like
His fingers trembled as he hovered over the call button. For six hours, he had run, yelled, panicked, and schemed. But now, sitting alone in the rain, stripped of every illusion of control, he knew there was only one person on earth who held the keys to his survival.
He pressed call.
