Chapter 5 - THE SAFE HOUSE
Jax’s family cabin was 20 miles outside town, deep in the woods, accessible only by a rutted dirt road, no cell service, no neighbors for miles—perfect. We drove there in Maggie’s beat-up pickup, Hale huddled in the back seat, still shaking, Jax driving, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror every 10 seconds to make sure we weren’t followed. The cabin was small, made of rough-hewn logs, a stone fireplace in the living room, the cupboards stocked with canned food and water, Jax’s grandpa’s old hunting rifle leaning against the wall. We locked all the doors, covered the windows with blankets, and sat around the kitchen table, listening to the recorder Hale had given us, every word making the conspiracy bigger, darker, than we’d ever imagined.
Halfway through the second hour, we heard it: Carter’s voice, talking to a man with a deep, familiar voice, the same voice I’d heard a hundred times at town meetings, at charity galas, at my dad’s company parties—Mayor Hale. “Once Finnley’s dead and Camden’s gone for good,” the mayor said, “we’ll sell Dennis Construction to the out-of-state developer for $15 million. Split it three ways. Reagan gets the house and the insurance money, Carter gets his debts paid off, I get the rest. No loose ends. No one to tell.”
I froze, staring at the recorder. Three ways. Reagan, Carter, the mayor. Dr. Hale was Elias Hale, the mayor’s younger brother. That’s why he’d been so easy to blackmail—his own brother was in on it, had probably helped Carter threaten Lila. Jax looked at me, his eyes wide. “That’s why the judge wouldn’t let your dad enter the evidence. That’s why the clerk lost the forensic report. That’s why you got three years instead of probation. Hale owned half the town. The DA, the judge, half the police force—they all owed him favors, or he had dirt on them.”
Maggie pulled the photo out of the storage unit files, the one of my dad with a group of businessmen at the country club, pointing at the man standing next to him, smiling, his arm slung over my dad’s shoulder. “That’s Hale. Your dad thought he was his friend. They’d been in business together for 10 years. Hale used that friendship to get access to the company accounts, to plant the evidence against you, to figure out how to get Camden out of the way so he could take everything.”
I thought back to prison, to the big guy named Cole who’d been transferred to my cell block six months before I got out, who’d pulled me aside in the yard one day, his voice low: Someone paid me $5,000 to shank you in the shower. I ain’t gonna do it—your dad was good to my mom once. But watch your back. There’s others who will. I’d thought it was a random threat, just prison stuff, but now it made sense: the mayor had paid people to kill me in prison, to make sure I never got out, never found out the truth. If Cole hadn’t had a conscience, I’d be dead, and they’d have gotten away with everything.
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We spent the rest of the day going over the evidence, organizing it into folders, making copies of everything, Jax driving 10 miles down the road to get cell service every few hours to check in with the state police, who said they were assembling a task force, would be there by morning. As the sun went down, the woods got dark, the only sound the wind in the trees and the crackle of the fireplace, Hale sitting in the corner, quiet, his face pale. “My brother’s a monster,” he said suddenly, not looking at any of us. “He’s been like this since we were kids. Always had to have everything, always had to be in charge. When he found out Camden was gonna audit the company books, find out about the kickbacks, he decided to get rid of both of you. I tried to stop him. I tried to tell him it was too much, but he said if I didn’t help, he’d hurt Lila too. He’s my own brother, and I was scared of him.”
Before any of us could say anything, we heard the sound of a car coming down the dirt road, slow, quiet, its headlights off. Jax grabbed the hunting rifle, motioning for us to be quiet, creeping to the window, pulling the blanket back a tiny bit to peek out. A black SUV was parked at the edge of the trees, doors opening, three men getting out, holding flashlights, guns in their other hands. One of them pulled his mask off, and I felt my blood run cold: Carter, his face twisted with anger, a gun in each hand. “Come out, come out, wherever you are, Finnley,” he yelled, his voice echoing through the woods. “We know you’re in there. We’ve got enough guns to blow this cabin to kingdom come. Just give us the recorder, and we’ll make it quick.”
