Chapter 2 - The Bracelet
Three months earlier, my father had visited me for breakfast.
Abraham Yates arrived in his faded pickup truck wearing work boots, jeans, and an old brown jacket.
To Brandon, he looked exactly like what he claimed to be.
A retired truck driver.
Brandon barely acknowledged him.
“Morning, Abe.”
My father looked at him.
“Abraham.”
Brandon laughed.
“Right.”
Dad said nothing.
He never liked Brandon.
He never explained why.
After breakfast, Dad walked me outside.
“Give me your wrist.”
“What?”
“Your wrist.”
I held it out.
He fastened a simple silver bracelet around it.
I smiled.
“Jewelry? From you?”
“It’s not jewelry.”
He turned the clasp over.
“Press here twice.”
I frowned.
“What happens?”
“It calls me.”
“Dad, I own a phone.”
“Phones disappear.”
I laughed.
“You worry too much.”
He didn’t.
“If you’re ever in trouble and can’t reach your phone, press it twice and call my name.”
“Wherever you are?”
“Wherever I am.”
I kissed his cheek.
“You’re dramatic for a retired truck driver.”
Something unreadable crossed his face.
“Maybe.”
Now, chained to my living-room floor, I finally understood why he had insisted.
Brandon turned toward the guests.
“Someone turn the music up.”
As he looked away, I found the hidden button.
Pressed once.
Twice.
A tiny vibration touched my wrist.
Connected.
I lifted my arm toward my mouth.
“Dad…”
Brandon stopped.
His head turned.
I whispered again.
“Help me…”
Silence spread through the room.
Then Brandon laughed.
“Your daddy?”
He walked toward me.
“Go ahead, Emily. Tell the old truck driver to come rescue his little girl.”
Several guests laughed.
Melissa folded her arms.
“Maybe he’ll bring his pickup.”
More laughter.
Brandon crouched.
“Maybe I’ll let him watch.”
He reached for my bracelet.
I pulled away.
He grabbed my wrist.
“What is this thing?”
Before he could remove it, the bracelet gave another tiny vibration.
Brandon frowned.
Across Springfield, Abraham Yates was sitting in a private office above a freight terminal.
Six men surrounded a conference table.
Nobody there knew him as Abe.
Nobody joked about his pickup truck.
Abraham’s phone suddenly activated.
“Dad…”
Every man stopped talking.
Then they heard my second whisper.
“Help me…”
My father stood.
The chair behind him fell backward.
A younger man named Victor Kane reached for his phone.
“Boss?”
Abraham raised one hand.
Through the bracelet’s open microphone came Brandon’s voice.
“Tell the old truck driver to come rescue his little girl.”
Silence.
Victor looked at Abraham.
“Was that Brandon?”
My father’s expression became frighteningly calm.
Then my scream came through the speaker.
Victor was already moving.
“Get the cars.”
Abraham caught his arm.
“Wait.”
Everyone stopped.
Dad listened.
Brandon was laughing.
Guests were talking.
Melissa said something about documents.
Then Dad heard Cooper barking.
His jaw tightened.
“Trace the bracelet.”
Victor checked his tablet.
“Her house.”
“Police?”
Abraham shook his head.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“If Brandon sees patrol cars, he may panic.”
Victor understood.
“How many people?”
“Enough that we need witnesses alive.”
Victor nodded.
Dad looked around the room.
“Call Dr. Mercer. Tell him to prepare the private trauma unit.”
“And Emily?”
My father picked up his coat.
“We bring my daughter home.”
Downstairs, engines started.
Not one vehicle.
Twelve.
Brandon had spent years believing my father owned an old pickup.
He never knew about the freight terminals.
The warehouses.
The casinos.
The private security companies.
Or the men who stopped conversations when Abraham Yates entered a room.
Back at the house, Brandon ripped at my bracelet.
It wouldn’t come loose.
“Cut it,” Melissa said.
He reached for her scissors.
Then Cooper stopped tearing at my dress.
He froze.
His ears lifted.
I heard it too.
Engines.
Lots of them.
One guest walked toward the window.
“Brandon?”
“What?”
“You expecting someone?”
“No.”
The man pulled the curtain aside.
His face changed.
“Then you have a problem.”
Brandon hurried toward the window.
Black SUVs were turning onto our street.
One after another.
After another.
Melissa whispered, “Who are they?”
I closed my eyes.
For the first time that night, I smiled.
May you like
“My father.”
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