Chapter 7 - THE FAKE KIDNAPPING
For a second, I thought I had misheard him.
“You did what?”
Ethan’s face was swollen.
His lip was split.
But his eyes were clear.
Too clear.
“The kidnapping was fake.”
Amber had arrived with Ruiz and stood near the entrance.
She stared at him.
“You let me think you were going to die?”
Ethan looked ashamed.
“The beating wasn’t supposed to go that far.”
One of the arrested men laughed from the ground.
“Don’t blame us because you got cheap.”
Hale turned.
“Shut up.”
The man smiled.
Ethan looked at me.
“I needed you scared.”
I felt something inside me go completely cold.
“You sent me a picture of yourself tied to a chair.”
“Yes.”
“You made me think men were going to kill you.”
“I thought if you believed I was in danger—”
“I would give you money.”
He nodded.
I slapped him.
Harder than Amber had.
The room went silent.
I had never hit my son.
Not when he was a child.
Not when he was a teenager.
Not once.
But that morning, surrounded by fake IDs and stolen bank statements, I hit him.
Then I immediately hated myself for it.
Not because he didn’t deserve anger.
Because I realized what he had turned our relationship into.
A place where violence suddenly felt possible.
I stepped back.
“Don’t ever use my love for you as a weapon again.”
Ethan cried then.
Real tears.
I did not comfort him.
Hale handcuffed him.
Ethan looked shocked.
“Wait.”
“You admitted arranging a fake kidnapping to extort your mother.”
“I cooperated.”
“You confessed.”
“Those are different things?”
“They sure are.”
Amber laughed bitterly through her tears.
For the first time in years, I felt sorry for her.
Not because Ethan had cheated.
Not because he had lied.
Because I recognized the same look on her face that I had probably worn for years.
The look of someone rearranging the past in real time.
Every unexplained charge.
Every missed dinner.
Every lie.
Every strange mood.
Every night he came home at two in the morning.
Suddenly they all belonged to a different story.
At the police station, they questioned Ethan for five hours.
I went home.
I changed clothes.
I showered twice because the storage unit smelled like oil and concrete dust.
Then I sat at my kitchen table and stared at nothing.
Nicole made coffee.
“You need to eat.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“I said no.”
She sat across from me.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
She didn’t argue.
That helped.
Around four, Mara called.
“We found another account.”
I almost laughed.
Of course they did.
“What now?”
“This one is in Nicole’s name.”
Nicole heard her name.
She leaned closer.
“What account?”
Mara continued on speaker.
“A brokerage account opened nine months ago.”
Nicole frowned.
“I don’t have one.”
“I know.”
My daughter’s face changed.
“How much?”
“Currently? Nothing.”
“What went through it?”
Mara paused.
“One hundred and ten thousand dollars.”
Nicole stood up so fast her chair fell.
“Where did he get my information?”
I knew before Mara answered.
Family.
Tax returns.
Old forms.
Maybe Christmas cards.
Maybe documents left on a desk.
When criminals are family, they don’t break into your life.
They already have a key.
Mara continued.
“Nicole, there’s more.”
My daughter closed her eyes.
“Of course there is.”
“The account listed your mother as the beneficiary.”
Nicole looked confused.
“Why?”
Mara answered quietly.
“We think Ethan planned to make it appear Patricia was moving money through accounts in both children’s names.”
I understood.
My stomach twisted.
“If he got caught, he wanted it to look like I had set everything up.”
“Yes.”
Nicole’s face filled with fury.
“He wasn’t just stealing.”
“No.”
“He was building a case against you.”
“Yes.”
That was the part that hurt most.
Gambling can be impulsive.
Fraud can be desperate.
But this?
This took planning.
He had created documents.
Opened accounts.
Forged signatures.
Moved money.
Then waited for the perfect public moment to accuse me.
Why?
Because if everybody believed I was a secret gambler, then when the truth came out financially, they would already have their answer.
Patricia did it.
Mom lost control.
Poor Ethan tried to help.
I felt sick.
Nicole paced the kitchen.
“I want him in prison.”
I looked at her.
She stopped.
“Mom, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t start thinking about saving him.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I am thinking.”
“That’s what you call it every time he hurts you.”
I stared at her.
She had never spoken to me like that before.
Nicole’s eyes filled with tears.
“You keep thinking until you find an excuse for him.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“It’s absolutely fair.”
I stood.
“You think this is easy for me?”
“No. I think it’s been easy for him because you always make it easy.”
That landed like a slap.
Neither of us spoke.
Then my phone rang.
Detective Hale.
I answered.
“Mrs. Reynolds, we have a problem.”
My heart tightened.
“What problem?”
“Your son made bail.”
I stared at the wall.
“How?”
“His attorney arranged bond.”
“Who paid it?”
There was a pause.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
May you like
Then Hale added:
“And we can’t locate Amber.”
