“The money was never yours,” I whispered. “And neither was I.”
Siren wails echoed in the distant desert air, growing louder, multiplying, closing in from every direction.
Miriam had done her job.
Lucas’s eyes widened in sheer, helpless panic as red and blue lights began to flash against the high windows of the room.
“You called the police?” he breathed, horror creeping into his voice.
“No,” I smiled, the sharpest, coldest smile of my life. “I called my father’s old department. They’ve been waiting twenty-eight years to finish this conversation.”
He lunged toward the desk—whether for a weapon or the blue folder, I didn’t care.
I didn’t need to shoot.
The front door burst open with a deafening crash.
“POLICE! HANDS IN THE AIR!”
Armed officers flooded the room, throwing Lucas to the floor before he could even scream. His face was pressed hard against the dusty hardwood, his arms twisted behind his back as the handcuffs clicked into place.
