Chapter 8: The Paranoia
Chapter 8: The Paranoia
By morning, Richard’s carefully constructed world was burning to the ground. I had tapped into his office surveillance systems and watched him pacing his penthouse office like a caged, terrified rat, his tie undone and hair disheveled. His private phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, and all the color drained from his face, leaving him looking like a corpse.
"Mr. Vargas," Richard stammered, answering the call from the cartel's ruthless lieutenant, his voice cracking. "I—I can explain the docks. Please, you have to believe me, it was a setup! Someone is trying to frame me!"
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Through the intercepted audio feed, a cold, heavily accented voice replied, dripping with menace. "Five million is missing, Richard. Our money. And my men found your arrogant business card at the scene. You have twenty-four hours to find the cash and the rat who hit us, or we bypass the courts and take your skin while you're still breathing."
Richard hurled the phone against the glass wall, shattering the screen into a spiderweb. He dropped to his knees, burying his face in his hands. He was drowning in an ocean he didn't understand, and I was the one standing on the shore, holding the hose.
