Chapter 20 - Shadows in the Rearview
I nearly dropped the glass. "Jessica? Jessica is a fugitive. She's in Costa Rica."
"She *was* in Costa Rica," Arthur corrected grimly. "She burned through the cash she stole from your parents' retirement fund in less than three weeks. Extravagant resorts, luxury car rentals, bad investments. When the money ran out, she realized the FBI had opened an interstate wire fraud case against her. She slipped back into the UK on a fraudulent passport through Ireland. She knows you’re in the UK, David."
A wave of cold dread washed over me. "How?"
"Think about it," Arthur said. "When you sold your house, you signed the paperwork with the overseas notary in London. Jessica worked in title insurance for six years before she got fired. She still had access to backend property registry databases through an old associate's login. She tracked the fund transfer routing codes."
"She’s in Britain?" I demanded, rising from the table, my knuckles white as I gripped the wooden edge.
"She’s somewhere on the island," Arthur confirmed. "And she contacted your mother to tell her that she was going to 'handle' you. She told your mother that if she could get custody of Emma, or force you into a settlement, you’d have to pay them both off to make the charges go away."
"She thinks she can extort me?" I said, a bitter, vicious laugh escaping my throat. "Using my daughter?"
"She’s desperate, David. Cornered animals don't think strategically. They strike at whatever is closest. I’ve already alerted Police Scotland and the Home Office. Jessica is on the immigration watch list. But you need to stay inside tonight. Keep the doors locked. If you see anything unusual, do not hesitate to dial 999."
"I understand," I said.
I hung up the phone and walked quietly down the hall to Emma’s bedroom.
She was sleeping peacefully, her small chest rising and falling beneath the duvet, her stuffed rabbit tucked securely under her chin. Her face was calm, unburdened by the madness of the family she had left behind.
I walked over to the closet, reached up to the high shelf, and pulled down the locked steel security lockbox I had purchased upon arriving in Scotland. Inside was a heavy personal safety alarm, an industrial-grade pepper canister, and a secondary satellite tracking beacon.
I checked the battery on the beacon, slipped it into the pocket of my jeans, and walked back to the living room.
May you like
Outside, the Edinburgh rain had turned into a thick, swirling mist that clung to the dark pines at the edge of the garden.
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