Chapter 8 - THE SHADOWS OF BANGOR
Two men walked into the house, their loud voices carrying down the hallway.
"I'm telling you, Rossi wants the place cleared out by Friday," a thick, gravelly voice said. "The cops are sniffing around because of that stupid broad and the kid."
"Darlene's an idiot," a second voice spat back. "She lost twenty grand at the blackjack table on Monday, and then she dumps the kid behind a diner like a bag of trash. Now she’s got CPS and some rich guy from the point breathing down our necks!"
Samuel held his breath in the dark bedroom, his hand wrapped tightly around the heavy metal flashlight in his coat pocket. He clicked his phone to silent and set it to record audio.
The two men walked into the kitchen, right outside Rosie's bedroom door.
"Is the ledger still in the pantry?" the first man asked. "Rossi said if the feds find that book showing Darlene's debt transfers from the girl's trust account into Rossi's shell company, we're all going to Atlanta for ten years."
"Yeah, it's behind the loose panel near the floor," the second man said. "Grab the book and let's get out of here before—"
HONK! HONK! HONK!
The sharp, blaring sound of Samuel’s truck horn cut through the afternoon air outside.
"What the hell was that?" the gravelly-voiced man yelled.
Samuel didn't wait.
He burst out of the bedroom like a freight train.
Before the two men could turn around, Samuel slammed his heavy shoulder into the first man—a tall, thick-set thug wearing a leather jacket—sending him crashing into the kitchen counter. The man hit the wood hard, dropping a heavy crowbar he was holding, and slumped to the floor, stunned.
The second man, shorter with a pockmarked face, reached into his coat for a pistol.
Samuel didn't give him the chance. He swung the metal flashlight in a tight, devastating arc, striking the man's wrist.
Crack.
The gun clattered across the floorboards. Samuel followed up with a crushing left hook that caught the man square on the jaw, dropping him like a sack of cement beside the stove.
Silence returned to the kitchen, broken only by the heavy breathing of the two groaning men on the floor.
Samuel didn't waste a second. He walked straight to the kitchen pantry, dropped to his knees, and pulled back a loose piece of pine paneling near the baseboard.
Inside sat a thick, black leather-bound ledger.
Samuel pulled it out and flipped it open.
The pages were filled with meticulously handwritten records—dates, dollar amounts, check numbers, and signatures. It detailed every single illegal financial transaction between Darlene Pike and Frank Rossi over the last six months.
Over $180,000 had been systematically laundered out of Sarah Hail's estate and Rosie's educational trust directly into Rossi's illegal gambling syndicate, signed off by Darlene Pike and witnessed by Arthur Vance.
"Got you," Samuel whispered, his eyes burning with cold satisfaction.
He shoved the ledger into his coat, picked up the gun from the floor, ejected the magazine, tossed the weapon into the sink, and walked out the front door into the crisp, cold air.
Outside, Rosie was standing near the truck, her hands pressed against the glass, her eyes wide with terror.
Samuel walked quickly down the driveway, climbed into the driver's seat, and started the engine.
May you like
"Are you okay?" Rosie whimpered, reaching out to touch his sleeve.
Samuel looked at her, offering a calm, reassuring smile as he pulled out onto the road. "I'm better than okay, Rosie. We just found the key that's going to set you free forever."
