Chapter 6 - The Wrong Kind of Threat
Cole called his ex-wife immediately.
His daughter was safe.
The photo had been taken the previous Thursday.
That did not make it better.
It made it calculated.
Dad had stored the image for a moment when fear would be useful.
Cole wanted to delete the message.
I grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t.”
“It’s my phone.”
“It’s evidence.”
“Stop saying evidence like we’re in a courtroom.”
“We might be.”
He pulled his hand away.
Then he said something I hated because it was true.
“You like this part.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“The part where everyone finally has to admit you were right.”
My face went hot.
He pushed back from the table.
“You always hated Dad. Now he’s doing something insane and you’re—”
“Enjoying it?”
He didn’t answer.
I stood too fast and knocked my coffee sideways.
It poured across the table and into Cole’s lap.
He jumped up cursing.
A woman two booths over stared at us.
For one stupid second, we both started laughing.
Not because anything was funny.
Because we were exhausted and the universe had just poured decaf-looking misery into his jeans.
Cole sat back down.
“So much for tactical control.”
“Shut up.”
I handed him napkins.
Then I said, quieter, “You’re right about one thing.”
He looked up.
“I do want him caught.”
“That’s not exactly a confession.”
“I want him embarrassed too.”
Cole stopped wiping his jeans.
There it was.
The ugly little truth.
Dad had spent years making every disagreement into a referendum on my attitude, my career, my marriage that never happened, my choice not to have kids, my tone.
Part of me wanted an audience when he finally ran out of words.
That part was not noble.
I didn’t pretend it was.
Cole nodded once.
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“Now I trust you more.”
That stung too.
He forwarded Dad’s message to me.
Then he sent it to his ex-wife.
Then, after a long pause, he sent it to Sheriff Talley.
As soon as he hit send, his phone rang.
Dad.
Cole stared at it.
“Answer,” I said.
He did.
Speakerphone.
Dad’s voice filled the booth.
“You with her?”
Cole looked at me.
“No.”
Dad paused.
Not long.
Long enough.
“You were always a terrible liar.”
Cole went pale.
Dad continued.
“I need you home tonight. We’re fixing this.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means your sister is confused about what she bought.”
I leaned toward the phone but Cole raised a hand.
For once, he wanted to handle it.
“Did Mom own land in Montana?”
Silence.
Then Dad said, “Your mother owned nothing I didn’t know about.”
Cole’s eyes met mine.
He asked, “Then why did she wire three hundred eighty-nine thousand dollars to Big Sky Agricultural Holdings?”
The line went dead.
Cole sat motionless.
Then another text arrived.
Not from Dad.
From Denise.
COLE, PLEASE DON’T GO HOME TONIGHT.
A second bubble appeared.
HE FOUND THE LETTER.
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