Chapter 7
The plan was simple.
And insane.
And I insisted on being part of it.
Daniel thought he was meeting Mendez at midnight.
He thought he was paying the second half of the money.
He thought in forty-eight hours, I’d be dead.
He had no idea Mendez was in custody.
He had no idea we had the tapes.
He had no idea Vanessa was cooperating.
So the police would send in an undercover officer posing as Mendez.
Wear a wire.
Get Daniel to admit to everything on tape.
One final, damning piece of evidence.
And I would be there.
In the van.
Watching.
Listening.
My parents had fought me on it.
For an hour.
Screaming.
Begging.
Threatening to lock me in my room.
But I’d been firm.
“This ends tonight,” I’d said. “I want to hear him say it. I want to hear him admit he was going to kill me. I want to know, beyond any doubt, that I’m not making a mistake. That I’m not overreacting. That the man I married really is a monster.”
And finally, they’d agreed.
Reluctantly.
With about a hundred conditions.
I would stay in the van.
At the back.
Behind bulletproof glass.
Six officers inside the van with me.
Twenty more surrounding the warehouse.
SWAT on standby.
No way Daniel could get to me.
No way anything could go wrong.
That was the theory, anyway.
At eleven thirty, we left the house.
I was wearing a bulletproof vest under my sweatshirt.
It was heavy.
Hot.
Uncomfortable.
A constant reminder of what was at stake.
The drive to the east side took forty minutes.
The warehouse was in the middle of nowhere.
Surrounded by overgrown grass and chain link fence.
Dark.
Abandoned.
Perfect for a murder plot.
The van parked half a block away.
Lights off.
Engine idling quietly.
Monitors flickered to life.
Cameras hidden around the warehouse showed every entrance.
Every shadow.
The audio feed crackled.
The undercover officer—going by Mendez’s name—was already inside.
Waiting.
“Everyone in position,” Alvarez said over the radio. She was in the van with us. Standing by the monitors. “Remember—we wait for the confession. We need him to say the words. No matter what he says. No matter how bad it gets. We do not move until he admits he ordered the hit.”
A murmur of agreement over the radio.
I sat in the back.
My father on one side.
My mother on the other.
Both holding my hands.
My heart was hammering so hard I thought they could hear it.
The baby kicked.
Hard.
Like he knew.
I rested my hand on my stomach.
It’s okay, I told him silently. We’re okay. This is almost over.
11:55.
A car turned onto the street.
Headlights cutting through the dark.
A black SUV.
Daniel’s SUV.
“Target approaching,” someone said.
The car pulled up to the warehouse.
Stopped.
Engine off.
Lights off.
A minute passed.
Then the driver’s door opened.
Daniel got out.
He was wearing dark clothes.
A hoodie.
Gloves.
He looked around.
Nervous.
But also… excited.
Like a kid on Christmas morning.
He reached back into the car.
Pulled out a duffel bag.
Closed the door.
Walked toward the warehouse.
“He’s carrying,” an officer said. “Right side. Looks like the same gun from the safe.”
I gripped my parents’ hands tighter.
Daniel slipped through a hole in the chain link.
Walked to a side door.
Pushed it open.
Disappeared inside.
“Inside,” Alvarez said. “Audio up.”
The speakers crackled.
Then we heard Daniel’s voice.
“Mendez? You here?”
“Right here, Carter.” The undercover officer. His voice was rough. Perfect. “Took you long enough.”
“Had to make sure I wasn’t followed.” Daniel’s footsteps. Getting closer. “You got the stuff?”
“Got it right here.” A rustle. “You got my money?”
“Half now.” The thud of the duffel hitting something metal. “Half when the job’s done. Like we agreed.”
“Nah, man. New deal. All of it now. Things got hot. Your wife’s got cops all over her. Security up the ass. This just got a lot harder.”
Daniel laughed.
It was a terrible sound.
“Cops and security don’t matter. She’s routine now. She goes to the same doctor every Tuesday. Same coffee shop every Wednesday. Same route home. You’ll have a dozen opportunities. All I need is one.”
“One’s all I need. But it’s still two-fifty now. Or I walk.”
A pause.
I could imagine Daniel’s face.
Calculating.
Weighing options.
“Fine,” he said. “Two fifty. But it better be clean. Car crash. Head on. Drunk driver crosses the center line. No gunshots. No struggle. And the other woman—Vanessa Marlow. You plant the bottle in her car. Her prints on the wheel. She takes the fall.”
“Vanessa? The baby mama? That cold, man.”
“She’s disposable,” Daniel said. “They all are. Now—when?”
“End of next week. She’s got that doctor’s appointment. The one on Allen Parkway. Long stretch of road. No lights. Easy.”
“Good.” Daniel sounded pleased. “And make sure the baby dies too. Can’t have him growing up with her family’s money. Not when it should be mine.”
I stopped breathing.
Can’t have him growing up.
Not when it should be mine.
My son.
My innocent, unborn son.
Daniel had just sentenced him to death.
Over money.
My father’s grip on my hand was so tight I thought he might break my fingers.
My mother was crying silently.
Alvarez’s hand was on her radio.
Waiting.
“Got it,” the undercover said. “One more thing. The brother—Marcus. He’s getting nervous. Says he wants out.”
“Marcus is a problem,” Daniel said. “After Olivia’s gone… he’ll have to go too. Can’t have him talking. One more body. Add it to my tab.”
One more body.
Add it to my tab.
Like Marcus was a drink at a bar.
“All right,” the undercover said. “We got a deal. Two fifty. Wife and baby next week. Brother after. Vanessa takes the fall. Clean. No witnesses.”
“Deal.”
Alvarez keyed her radio.
“Move in. Now.”
Chaos.
“Police! Don’t move!”
Shouting.
Running feet.
The sound of a gun being cocked.
“Drop the weapon, Carter! Drop it now!”
A gunshot.
Not close.
Outside.
Then Daniel screaming.
“Son of a bitch! You set me up! You set me—”
The crackle of a taser.
Silence.
Then Alvarez’s radio.
“Suspect in custody. Shot fired into the ceiling. No injuries. Suspect tased. Being read his rights now.”
Alvarez let out a breath.
Turned to me.
“It’s over, Olivia. We got him. We got everything.”
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
I was staring at the monitor.
At the image of Daniel being led out of the warehouse in handcuffs.
His face was twisted with rage.
He was yelling.
Spitting.
Fighting the officers holding him.
And then—for one split second—he looked directly into the hidden camera.
Like he knew I was watching.
Like he knew I’d heard every word.
And he mouthed those same two words again.
Soon.
Baby.
But this time, I didn’t feel fear.
I felt nothing.
Because I knew.
No matter what he said.
No matter what threats he made.
He was going away.
May you like
For a very long time.
And my son and I were safe.
