Chapter 5 - Connecting the Dots
I didn't sleep that night.
I stayed locked inside Unit 108, surrounded by the ghosts of my father's investigation. I read every document. I traced every red string on the corkboard.
By dawn, the entire picture was crystal clear. Reagan and Carter had executed a hostile takeover from the inside, using my father's failing health and my imprisonment as their shields.
At 8:00 AM sharp, I found the business card for Arthur Vance, Private Investigator. I used my prepaid phone to dial the number.
“Vance Investigations,” a gruff voice answered.
“Mr. Vance. My name is Finnley Dennis. Camden Dennis was my father.”
There was a heavy pause on the other end of the line.
“I'll be damned,” Vance breathed. “Where are you, kid?”
“I'm in a storage unit in Phoenix. And I'm looking at enough evidence to put my stepmother and stepbrother in federal prison for the rest of their lives.”
“Don't move,” Vance ordered. “I'm on my way.”
Vance arrived an hour later. He was a broad-shouldered man with a graying beard and a heavy trench coat. He took one look at the boxes and the corkboard, and let out a low whistle.
“Your old man was a bulldog,” Vance said, picking up a bank ledger. “He called me right before he died. Said he secured the package but couldn't get out of the house. I tried to do a wellness check, but Reagan had his doctor sign off saying he was receiving hospice care. The cops couldn't intervene.”
“Can we use this to arrest them?” I asked, my voice hard.
Vance reviewed the documents, his eyes darting across the pages.
“Oh, we can do more than arrest them, Finnley. We can completely destroy them. But we have to be smart. Reagan is cunning. If she sniffs a police investigation, she'll wire the money to the Caymans and flee the country.”
“Then how do we stop her?”
Vance smiled, a predatory glint in his eye.
“We hit her when she's completely exposed. We hit her when she thinks she's won. According to my sources, Reagan is throwing a massive gala at your house this Saturday. She's officially announcing the sale of Dennis Construction to a corporate conglomerate.”
I clenched my fists. Selling my father's legacy to line her own pockets.
“She needs a clean legal title to sell the company,” Vance explained. “If we can prove she forged the transfer of ownership documents while your father was heavily medicated, the sale is void. And the fraud charges will stick.”
“Saturday,” I muttered. “Three days from now.”
“You ready for a fight, kid?” Vance asked, handing me a file.
May you like
I looked at the picture of my father pinned to the corkboard.
“I've been fighting for three years, Vance. I'm just getting started.”
