The next morning, the gray skies mirrored my internal turmoil. I hadn’t slept, the enforcer’s chilling words about “the body” replaying in my mind like a broken record. My decision was firm: I had to confront Mr. Jenkins, now.
I drove directly to his office, a small, nondescript suite in a strip mall, sandwiched between a tax preparation service and a nail salon. The name “Jenkins Appraisals” was printed in fading gold letters on the frosted glass door. His office hours sign indicated he opened at 9 AM. I was there at 8:55.
I waited in my car, watching a single, pathetic potted fern wilt beside his door. At exactly nine, Jenkins arrived, looking even more disheveled than the night before. His tie was loose, his hair uncombed, and dark circles sagged beneath his eyes. He clearly hadn’t slept either.
He unlocked the door, his movements slow and tired. As he stepped inside, I followed him, closing the door quietly behind me. He jumped, startled, dropping his briefcase with a clatter.
“Ms. Albright!” he stammered, his eyes wide with fear. His face drained of color, going from pasty white to an unhealthy shade of green. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.
“Mr. Jenkins,” I said, my voice deliberately calm, even though my heart was pounding. “We need to talk.”
He backed away, bumping into his desk chair. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m busy. I have appointments.”
He made a feeble attempt to pick up his briefcase, his hands trembling. The sight of his fear, stark and undeniable, was a small, cruel satisfaction. He had helped Mark inflict so much pain on me and Leo.
“We both know that’s not true,” I said, stepping further into the cramped office. The air smelled of stale coffee and cheap paper. “I know about the inflated appraisals. I know about the shell corporations. And I know you met with Mark’s enforcer last night.”
His eyes darted around the room, as if looking for an escape route, or perhaps for the burly man to magically appear and protect him. “I… I don’t know any enforcers. I don’t know anything about that.”
“He told you to keep your mouth shut, didn’t he?” I pressed, my voice gaining a firmer edge. “He mentioned ‘the body,’ didn’t he?”
Jenkins flinched, a visible shudder running through him. The name of the enforcer, the mention of “the body,” broke his already fragile composure. He sank into his chair, his shoulders slumping. He rubbed his face with both hands, groaning softly.
“Please, Ms. Albright,” he pleaded, his voice muffled. “You don’t understand. Mark… he’s a dangerous man.”
“I think I’m beginning to understand exactly how dangerous he is,” I countered, leaning against the door, ensuring he couldn’t just bolt. “And you, Mr. Jenkins, are complicit. Fraudulent appraisals, fabricating a suicide, possibly much worse. That’s a federal offense. Multiple federal offenses, in fact.”
I watched him, letting the weight of my words sink in. His face, already pale, was now slick with sweat. He squirmed in his chair, his eyes wide and panicked. The thought of federal authorities, of prison, was clearly terrifying him.
“I didn’t have a choice!” he burst out, desperation coloring his voice. “He had things on me! Old mistakes, financial misdeeds. He threatened to expose everything, to ruin my life, take my license, everything!”
“So you helped him ruin David’s life instead?” I asked, my voice rising slightly, unable to keep the bitterness out of it. “And mine? And Leo’s?” The personal cruelty of his actions, driven by self-preservation, was sickening. He’d sacrificed our family to save his own skin.
His head snapped up, a flicker of genuine remorse in his eyes, quickly overshadowed by fear. “He said… he said David was already gone. He just needed the paperwork.”
“What paperwork?” I demanded. “What exactly did Mark make you do, Mr. Jenkins?”
He wrung his hands, his gaze fixed on some point beyond me, as if seeing Mark’s menacing face. “The suicide note. He made me write it. He gave me the words, the handwriting style. He even had David’s old stationery.”
My blood ran cold
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