Chapter 8 - Somebody Cut the Brakes
Michael insisted on driving home alone that evening.
Willow argued.
He smiled.
“I’ve been fixing cars longer than Lucas has been lying.”
Twenty minutes later, Willow received a call from an unknown number.
A police officer.
Michael’s truck had gone through a barrier near the Kennedy Expressway entrance.
Willow’s entire body went numb.
She reached the hospital before the ambulance doors closed.
Michael was conscious.
Bruised.
Bleeding slightly above one eyebrow.
Alive.
Willow grabbed his hand.
“What happened?”
Michael looked at her.
“My brakes.”
The officer standing nearby frowned.
“You think they failed?”
Michael shook his head.
“I think someone helped them fail.”
The truck was taken for inspection.
Two hours later, a mechanic Michael trusted called.
The rear brake line had been sliced.
Cleanly.
Willow stood in the hospital hallway staring at nothing.
Helena whispered, “We need police protection.”
Michael heard her.
“No.”
Willow turned.
“Dad.”
“They want us frightened.”
“They almost killed you.”
“And now they know something.”
“What?”
Michael sat up carefully.
“That I was telling the truth about the originals.”
Willow stared at him.
Michael continued.
“If Richard believed those documents were gone, he would laugh at us.”
“He wouldn’t cut brake lines.”
Willow looked toward the window.
“So he knows you still have them.”
Michael nodded.
“And now I know he’s desperate.”
Naomi arrived thirty minutes later.
She was furious.
“We move everything tonight.”
“What everything?”
“The copies.”
“The recordings.”
“The hotel footage.”
“The trust documents.”
“All of it.”
Willow hesitated.
“What about the originals?”
Michael looked at her.
“They remain where Catherine put them.”
Willow’s patience broke.
“Dad, enough.”
Michael lowered his voice.
“I promised your mother I would never remove them unless Richard came after you.”
“He came after me.”
Michael nodded.
“I know.”
He reached into his hospital bag.
He removed an old brass key.
Willow recognized it immediately.
It had hung above Michael’s workbench her entire childhood.
He placed it in her palm.
“Your mother hid the originals somewhere Richard would never think to look.”
Willow stared at the key.
“Where?”
Michael looked toward the hospital parking garage.
“In the first thing I ever bought with money she helped me earn.”
Willow’s eyes widened.
“The black Ford.”
May you like
Michael nodded.
“And Richard just had it towed away.”
