Her mother's ex-partner wanted her inheritance, so a biker told her to pretend he was her dad.
We spent the next day on the move, a blur of anonymous buses and quiet side streets, each one a calculated step away from Damon’s reach. Jinx navigated with an uncanny sense of direction, his eyes constantly scanning, always alert. Maya, exhausted, dozed against my shoulder, her small weight a constant reminder of our shared vulnerability.
We ended up in a slightly cleaner, but still nondescript, motel on the outskirts of a larger town. It had the same air of temporary anonymity, but with slightly softer mattresses. Jinx insisted on moving every 24-36 hours, making us phantom travelers in a constant state of flight.
I was in the bathroom, trying to rinse the grit from my hair, when I heard the faint buzz of my phone from the other room. I’d almost forgotten I still had it. My heart pounded as I grabbed a towel and rushed out.
Jinx was already holding it, his face grim.
“Unknown number,” he said, handing it to me. “Text message.”
My fingers trembled slightly as I took the phone. The screen displayed a single, new message.
“Hello Elara Rossi. My name is Brenda Wexler. I am a paralegal working on an urgent matter regarding the unclaimed assets of your late father, Arthur Rossi. I require your current location to finalize important paperwork. Please respond immediately to claim your inheritance.”
I read the message aloud, my voice tinged with a strange mix of hope and suspicion. “Unclaimed assets? It sounds… legitimate.”
“Legitimate bait,” Jinx growled, his eyes narrowing. “It’s Damon.”
“How do you know?” I asked, clutching the phone tightly. “Maybe it’s real. Maybe someone else found out.”
Jinx shook his head, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Nobody just *finds out* about unclaimed assets like this, not unless they’re looking. And the only one looking this hard, this fast, is Damon.”
“But a paralegal?” I questioned. “Why wouldn’t he just send his goons?”
“Because he knows we’re wary of his goons,” Jinx explained, his voice low and dangerous. “He’s trying a different angle. Something that looks official, safe. He thinks you’re naive enough to fall for it.”
The words stung, but I knew he was probably right. Damon was ruthless, and he wouldn’t shy away from using any tool at his disposal.
“He’s using someone,” I realized, the pieces clicking into place. “Someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”
“Exactly,” Jinx confirmed. “An unwitting accomplice. Someone desperate, maybe. He feeds them a believable story, tells them there’s a big payout for finding the beneficiary. They do the legwork, and then he swoops in.”
My mind flashed to Brenda Wexler, the name in the text. I imagined her: young, probably burdened with debt, eager to prove herself. It was a chillingly effective strategy. Damon wouldn’t need to bribe her; he’d just need to motivate her with the promise of legitimate work and a commission.
“So, if I reply, he’ll know where we are?” I asked, my heart sinking.
“Or at least narrow it down,” Jinx said. “He’ll trace the signal, cross-reference it with other data. He’s got resources, Elara. He’s not playing around.”
I stared at the text message again. It was so tempting, the idea of an easy solution, of simply claiming what was rightfully mine. But the unease in my gut, honed by years of navigating Sophia’s chaotic existence, screamed danger.
“What do I do?” I asked, looking up at Jinx.
“Ignore it,” he said without hesitation. “Block the number if you can. And get rid of that phone. It’s a liability.”
“But the locket,” I said, pointing to where the empty silver heart lay on the nightstand. “We have the micro-SD card. Isn’t that what he’s after?”
“He’s after anything he can get his hands on,” Jinx clarified. “He wants the inheritance, however he can get it. If he knew about the micro-SD card, he’d be here already, tearing the place apart.”
“So, he just knows there’s an inheritance, and he’s fishing for a way to get to it,” I concluded.
“He’s casting a wide net,” Jinx agreed. “And you, Elara, are the fish he’s trying to reel in.”
The analogy was stark, and unsettling. I thought of the innocent Brenda, probably sitting at a desk somewhere, genuinely believing she was doing good work, while unknowingly setting a trap for me and Maya. It was another layer of Damon’s depravity, using someone else’s good intentions for his twisted schemes.
“We need to move,” Jinx stated, his decision final. “Now. Before Brenda Wexler calls in her ‘find’ to Damon.”
I didn’t argue. The fleeting hope that the text represented a way out vanished, replaced by the cold reality of our ongoing flight.
“But where to?” I asked, looking around the small motel room, which suddenly felt incredibly exposed.
“Another safe house,” Jinx said, already moving towards the window to check the parking lot. “I have a few more tucked away. Friends of Arthur’s, mostly. People who owe him, or just remember his kindness.”
He paused, then added, “It’ll be even more out of the way this time. More secure.”
“And the micro-SD card?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “What about the tech expert?”
“We’re still going to him,” Jinx replied. “But we have to be smarter about it. This text means Damon’s stepping up his game. We need to do the same.”
He gestured towards my backpack. “Start packing. Quick and quiet.”
Maya, who had been listening from the bed, though probably not understanding the full implications, saw the urgency in our movements. She looked at me, her big eyes reflecting my own unease.
“Are we leaving again?” she asked, her voice small.
“Just another adventure, sweetie,” I said, forcing another smile, though it felt weaker this time. “Time to see a new place.”
I gathered our meager belongings, my mind racing. Damon was clever. He was adapting. He wasn’t just relying on brute force; he was using deception, leveraging the illusion of legitimacy to draw me out. It was a terrifying thought, that he could weaponize something as ordinary as a text message.
As I deleted the message and then removed the SIM card from my phone, preparing to discard it in the nearest trash bin once we were out, I felt a new surge of resolve. I wasn’t just running anymore. I was fighting back, even if it was just by staying hidden, by outsmarting his traps. This Brenda Wexler, this unwitting pawn, was a clear sign that Damon was feeling the pressure. He didn’t know what we had, but he knew we were a problem.
“What if she texts again?” I asked Jinx, feeling a lingering anxiety.
“She won’t get through,” he said, indicating the now dead phone in my hand. “And if she tries to report you missing, that’s a problem we’ll deal with later. For now, staying hidden is paramount.”
I nodded, sliding the phone into a plastic bag. It felt strangely liberating to cut that last digital tie. No more pings, no more tracking. Just us, and the road ahead.
Jinx led us out a back entrance, through a utility corridor and into a patch of overgrown woods behind the motel. The air was cool and damp, the ground uneven. Maya gripped my hand tightly, stumbling occasionally, but she didn’t complain.
“Hold on tight,” I whispered to her. “Almost there.”
We walked for what felt like an hour, pushing through dense brush, until we reached a secluded street where an old, nondescript sedan was waiting. Another one of Jinx’s contacts, a silent man with kind eyes, gave a brief nod as we slipped into the back seat.
As we pulled away, heading deeper into the anonymity of the highway, I looked back at the motel, already disappearing behind the trees. Damon’s net was tightening, but we were still slipping through the gaps. The micro-SD card, now safely tucked away with Jinx, was our secret weapon. But getting it decoded was now more urgent than ever. Brenda Wexler was just the first sign that Damon’s patience was wearing thin. The danger was escalating, and we were running out of places to hide.
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