Ten-year-old Lily stood at the rusty gate of Kincaid Salvage in Iron Ridge, holding a piece of cardboard that read: "FOR SALE - $150 OR BEST OFFER."
Jesse stood motionless for a long minute, the bank slip shaking slightly in his grip. The weight of the truth settled over him, heavy and suffocating. He crumpled the paper in his fist, then smoothed it out again, as if trying to erase the information.
“He always said Mateo ran off,” Jesse rasped, his voice raw. “Said he stole from Kincaid, that’s why he disappeared.”
“Kincaid always blamed everyone else,” I countered, my voice firm. “Thomas was scared, Jesse. He copied this, hid it. He knew Kincaid would kill for it.”
Lily coughed again, a wheezing sound that cut through the stale air. Time was running out.
Jesse looked at me, a flicker of something new in his eyes – not suspicion, but a desperate, calculating clarity. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Get Lily well,” I said, without hesitation. “And then I’m going to finish what Thomas started.”
He nodded slowly. “Kincaid’s not going to stop. He’ll send Silas back, maybe even come himself.”
I already knew that. While Jesse had been wrestling with the truth, I’d been working. I pointed to a corner of the trailer, where a heap of old scrap metal lay. “Help me with that.”
We spent the next two hours in frantic, whispered motion. I had an old, rusted bicycle frame, identical in model to Lily’s. Thomas had always kept spares. My fingers, numb with cold, worked swiftly, carving identical sequences of numbers onto the corroded steel. It was painstaking, but I knew Kincaid wouldn’t examine it too closely if he thought he had me cornered.
Jesse watched, his face grim, handing me tools. He didn’t ask questions, just helped, his hands surprisingly gentle as he held the frame steady.
The genuine hollow seat post, with the original bank record tucked inside, I carefully wrapped in an oil rag and slid it beneath a loose floorboard near Lily’s cot. Out of sight, out of Kincaid’s reach.
The moment we finished, a loud banging echoed on the trailer door. Silas Dax’s voice, thick with impatience, barked through the thin wall. “Maya! Kincaid knows you’re holding out! Give us the bike, or we’re coming in!”
Jesse and I exchanged a quick look. He gripped my shoulder, a silent promise in his touch.
“Let him take it,” I said, my voice steady. “He won’t know the difference.”
I unlatched the door. Silas, flanked by two other yard workers, pushed his way in, his eyes immediately fixated on the dummy frame. It looked convincing enough in the dim light.
“Finally,” Silas sneered, grabbing the bicycle. He didn’t even glance at Lily, or the genuine frame hidden under the floor. “Kincaid wants this back in his office. You’re in deep trouble, Maya.”
He hauled the dummy frame out, leaving us in the freezing cold. I watched him go, a shiver running through me that had nothing to do with the temperature. Kincaid was now gloating, thinking he had the key to his fortune. He was about to get a very cold surprise.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours