“Not sure. But unless any of you got 1.3 million in your wallet you’re willing to loan me, it doesn’t matter.”
“If we did, it wouldn’t be your debt, Walker. It would be hers,” Mercy grumbled from the other side of the room. When Walker had entered into the room, he was surprised to see Mercy sitting behind a computer, too.
All hands were on deck for this mission. Paid or not.
“Or would it?” Steel asked, watching Walker too carefully for his taste.
“This cartel isn’t small, Walker. It runs grow houses and drug rings in at least three states that we know of,” Hunter reminded him. “We can’t just go in and wipe them out.”
“Now that we know what we’re dealin’ with, I’m all for squeezin’ the father. He needs to step up and pay the debt,” Ryder said.
“Who’s to say once McMaster pays it the Castellanos don’t come and wipe both Ellie and McMaster out?” Brick voiced another concern Walker had considered.
“There’s no reason for bloodshed if they get their money,” Walker stated, hoping that was fucking true.
“Says the sane man,” Hunter grumbled under his breath.
“Okay, that’s pushing it. Nobody here is completely sane.”
Steel was right. None of them were a hundred percent sane. But then, that was why they could do what they did.
Walker drug a hand through his hair as he began to pace the room. Or at least in what space he could find. With the electronics and six Shadows taking up most of the room, that didn’t leave much.
“McMotherfucker had to put the money he was skimming somewhere. If he had set up offshore accounts for his sketchy clients including this cartel, then I’m sure as fuck he opened at least one for himself. We need to find that account. Ellie, as his widow, should be able to access it.”
“She’s not his widow,” Ryder reminded them. “Not unless there’s a death certificate. There isn’t one since the body wasn’t recovered yet, right? The divorce wasn’t final, which gave her the right to sell the mansion and rest. So by rights, she can legally claim anything the man owned.”
“And get stuck with the debt he owed, too,” Mercy added.
Which was why they were even having this whole discussion. “If he was skimming from the cartel, who’s to say he wasn’t skimming from other large accounts, legit or not? We know he skimmed at least a couple million from the cartel. But it could be more than that. We don’t know unless we find this offshore account and see the balance.”
“And what if he was? Say he has ten million stashed somewhere. Why?” Brick asked. “It would help to know the motivation unless it’s just plain greed.”
Walker answered him, “His business was being run into the ground. He was using it to make bank with these real estate transactions for the cartel and by skimming. He takes that bank and sends it overseas. Then he disappears and, easy-motherfucking-peasy, he can live high off the hog for the rest of his life. No responsibilities.”
“So then, why would he be scrambling to sell off his shit to pay his debt to the cartel once he was caught?” Steel asked.
That was a good question. One Walker put a lot of thought into the possible answer. “His fingers got caught in the cookie jar before he planned on ghosting. So maybe he wasn’t ready for some reason. By selling his shit and draining his accounts, maybe he could pay the cartel something? To show good faith and to buy him time, possibly? It would make it appear as if he was struggling to pay them, he could beg for more time, even skim money off other accounts right before he ghosts. I don’t know. Again, we won’t know how successful he was until we find his account or accounts, if they exist, to see the balance.”
“We only have the account number for the cartel that was provided to Ellie. She didn’t have any other account numbers, right?” Steel asked.
“I didn’t ask. At first, I figured he was just trying to cover his ass financially for all the bad deals he got involved in.”
“Well, maybe that’s where it started but that’s not where it ended,” Mercy grumbled.
“No, his greed became a monster,” Hunter said.
“A monster that killed him,” Steel reminded them needlessly.
Brick clapped his hands sharply together. “Okay, we now know we have to abandon any thought of handling the cartel ourselves. That would just be suicide. And it would put everybody at risk that we know. You don’t fuck with a cartel unless you can win that war. Their army is just too fucking big.”
“Agreed,” rose up around the room.
Walker ran a hand down his jaw. “Which means we’re down to two options. Ghosting Ellie or paying the debt and making a deal with one of Castellano’s lieutenants to let her go.”
“Or getting McMaster to pay the debt,” Hunter added.
“I talked to the asshole, he refuses. He’s a stubborn old fuck. So if the cartel takes him out because he won’t pay, it lands on Ellie’s shoulders again and we’re right back where we started.”
“Ghosting her sounds like the simplest solution,” Mercy grumbled.
“It is,” Brick agreed.
“Brother, you going to be able to live with her going ghost?”
Walker glanced up and met Hunter’s dark, troubled eyes.
No, they needed to find a way. He wouldn’t lose her again.
The doorbell sounding down the hall had Ellie jumping out of her skin as she stared at the text on her phone.
Time’s up.
She thought she had at least another day. Were they calling in the debt early? Fuck, that wasn’t fair.
She closed her eyes. She was dealing with a ruthless drug lord, why would she think they’d be fair.
She turned her head toward the sound as the doorbell rang again.
A cartel wouldn’t just show up at the front door and ring the bell, would they?
She hurried down the hallway and stuck her eye to the peephole. Her head jerked back at the sight of the man standing on the other side.
She never saw him before, but by the way he was dressed, he looked like one of the bikers Trace had mentioned. His black leather vest was a good indicator.
But that’s not what surprised her about the big, burly man standing on the front stoop.
She punched in the alarm code, unlocked the door and swung it open only enough to stand in it.
And then blinked at the sight before her.
Normally, this man would be scary looking. His thick beard, his longer hair, his huge body, every inch of skin she could see covered in tattoos.
But the anomaly was he was holding a toddler, maybe around two years old. A girl dressed in a cute pink jumper, darker pink shoes and had a little pink bow in her blonde hair.
She had one fist gripping the biker’s beard. While that had to be painful, the biker didn’t even flinch.
“Um, hi?”
The girl in his arms yelled, “Hi!” back and jerked the handful of beard she held onto.
Ellie winced for him.
“Fu—fudge!” The man looked down at what could only be his daughter. “It’s okay, baby. You can let Daddy’s beard go now, yeah?”
“Sowee, Daddy.”
He lifted his green eyes, which matched his daughter’s exactly, and said, “Hey. Assumin’ you’re,” the man glanced down again, this time at an overnight envelope in his other hand, “Ellie McMaster.”
“Uh... yes.”
“Figured you were Walker’s woman.”
Ellie opened her mouth to correct him, but snapped it shut instead.
“Just to let you know, delivery services can’t get into the compound. Happened to catch this one waitin’ outside the gate or you wouldn’t have gotten it.”
“Okay... I should’ve realized.”
“You’re new. To be expected.” He held out the envelope and she took it from him, noticing the sender’s address belonged to her attorney.
“Okay, well... Thank you...” She hesitated and lifted an eyebrow.
“Dawg.”
<
br /> Yep, that’s exactly what the patch said on the front of his vest. “Thank you, Dawg.”
He dipped his bushy chin toward the little girl he held. “This is Emmalee. She’s named after her momma, Emma. We call her Lee-lee.”
Ellie smiled at her. “Hi, Lee-lee, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Ellie.”
Lee-lee finally released her father’s beard to wave at her. “Hi, El... El...”
“El is fine.”
The little girl laughed, then screamed “El!” in her father’s ear.
Dawg sighed. “’Kay, gotta go. Someone needs a nap.”
“No, Daddeee! No nap!” She followed up her complaint with an exaggerated pouty face. Ellie could guess that expression wasn’t as cute to Dawg as it was to her.
Dawg rolled his eyes up toward the sky. “Got four fudgin’ females in my household. I need the motherfudgin’ nap.”
Lee-lee laughed loudly again. “Daddy nap. Me no nap.”
“Yeah, well, will let you fight that one out with your momma.”
As he turned and strode away on long legs, Ellie lifted a hand and called out, “Thanks again!”
Dawg threw a hand up over his shoulder and headed down the sidewalk.
Ellie glanced down at the envelope again, then went back in the house, locking the door and setting the alarm. She headed into the kitchen, ripping it open and peering inside.
One plain white envelope.
Her divorce attorney had called her yesterday morning before Walker had gotten back and said a sealed letter had arrived from George’s attorney. They said the envelope was marked “private,” so they didn’t want to open it without her consent.
Ellie told them to overnight it to her instead.
And now it was here. She pulled the inner envelope out and saw it indeed was marked as they said. Not only with “private” but with her first name.
And it was in George’s handwriting.
A shiver slid down her spine. Receiving something from her husband after his death was akin to seeing a ghost.
Her knees wobbled and she reached out to catch herself on a chair at the kitchen table. She jerked it out and sank into it. Ripping the white envelope open, she pulled out a single piece of lined paper that had been folded in thirds.
Her heart began to pound as she slowly unfolded it, her mind spinning with what the letter could reveal. It was written in perfectly neat script, which was so George, unlike her own messy scribble.
The message was short.
Darling,
If you’re reading this, there’s a good reason. Or, in truth, a bad one. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I drove you away. I thought I was doing what was best for us.
Same as she did to Trace all those years ago. So damn ironic.
I made a grave mistake by getting involved with an organization I shouldn’t have. Now I need you to protect yourself because I’m sure at this point, I’m not around to protect you.
Get out of the U.S. and go to Grand Cayman. There’s enough money in an account for you to set yourself up somewhere far away. If you budget properly, you’ll be set for the rest of your life.
Again, I can’t say it enough... I’m sorry, Ellie. I truly loved you and hope you find it in your heart to forgive me.
All my love,
George
She had held her breath the whole time she was reading it. She blew it out and then read it from the top again.
At the bottom of the letter he’d written the name of a bank and an address in the Cayman Islands, along with an account number.
George created this mess, was it possible he was going to be the one to clean it up, too? Even after his death?
Could this letter be her solution to the problem he made?
She jumped out of the chair and, leaving the letter there, she raced into the spare bedroom where her two suitcases remained. Throwing one open she grabbed her laptop and ran back to the table, opening it up and turning it on.
Her knee bounced impatiently as she waited for it to boot up.
“Come on!” she urged it. “Come on!”
Finally, she could log in with the Wi-Fi password Walker had given her the other day and pull up Google. Glancing quickly at the bottom of the letter, she typed the bank’s name into the search engine and found the bank’s website.
Her fingers were shaking as she typed in the username George had noted and the password. But it took her two times to type it correctly. One more time and she would have been locked out for twenty-four hours and she didn’t have twenty-four hours. Tomorrow was the deadline.
She either paid up or Walker would have to “ghost” her.
She’d never be able to come back to the States. She’d never see her elderly mother again. And she’d never see Trace.
Those two people, the two people she loved the most in life, were the only reasons she wanted to avoid that second option if she could.
She yelled, “Yes!” into the quiet room once she successfully logged in.
She moved the cursor to the link that said “account balances,” and double clicked.
And she waited.
The seconds it took for the page to load felt like minutes.
Finally... Finally, a screen popped up with a long list of amounts.
She scrolled down to the ending balance...
And cried out, a pain shooting through her chest.
Her heart squeezed and she ground the heels of her palms into her eyes for a second, then dropped her hands.
What she saw the first time was correct.
The account was empty. The balance zero. One big fucking goose egg.
Maybe this was a cruel joke.
But no matter what George had been, he hadn’t been cruel. So what she was seeing made no sense.
She scrolled through the transactions in the account, looking at all the deposits, but noticing there were no withdrawals. Not until recently.
The highest balance was a week ago.
Five million dollars.
Five. Million. Dollars.
He had more than enough money to pay off the cartel.
George had the money and didn’t do so.
Why?
The two recent withdrawals—the only withdrawals made on the account—were for two and a half million dollars each a day apart. And they were transferred to the same account both times.
Ellie double clicked on the “account details” link and scrolled down through the information. Her heart stopped. Her blood ran cold.
Three people were listed on the account.
George McMaster.
Ellie McMaster.
Gerald McMaster.
Gerald.
Fucking Gerald!
Son of a bitch, did George’s father get a letter from him, too? Did Gerald drain the account first before Ellie could pay off the debt?
Maybe George hadn’t been cruel, but she couldn’t say the same for his father.
His father didn’t care if she lived or died. That was clear by what she was seeing before her. The proof stared her right in the face.
Trace called George “McMotherfucker.” But it was Gerald who earned the title. Hands down.
She couldn’t let him get away with it.
Chapter Seventeen
Walker hit the garage door opener with a little more force than necessary. Smashing his boot against the gas pedal, his Dodge roared as he pulled it into the garage. He was itching to climb out and take Ellie over his knee to teach her a fucking lesson she would not soon forget.
He had called and texted her at least a dozen times and instead of staying at the warehouse to finish making a plan to get her ass out of a jam, he had to come back home to find out why the fuck she wasn’t answering him.
He shut off the engine and pushed open the driver’s door, then froze.
His fucking truck was gone. Nothing but a small oil spot stained the concrete where it had been parked.
His head twisted toward the key cabinet. It hung open and the F
ord key was missing.
Of course, it was. For fuck’s sake!
He yanked his phone out of the side pocket of his cargo pants and texted: Where the fuck R U? before slamming the car door shut and heading into the house to see if she left a note.
She was told not to leave the house. He’d been crystal fucking clear about that. If she needed something from the store, he’d have Jesse or one of the women grab it for her, if he couldn’t.
Worse, she left without a fucking word.
Even more motherfucking worse, the deadline was only a day away and her being out and about would make her an easy target for the cartel.
He paused just outside the laundry room to drop his head back, curl his fingers into tight fists and scream. Then he blew out a breath and stalked into the kitchen to look for a note.
There it was. On the fucking kitchen table next to her purple laptop, which was open but the screen was dark. He snagged the letter and let his eyes scan it.
“Fucking motherfucker!” he yelled then crumpled it in his fist.
He texted Ellie again: U better answer UR phone this time.
He gave her the few seconds it took him to head back out to his Dodge. He started it, backed it out of the garage and hit the remote for the automatic door. Then called Ellie one more time.
“You better fucking answer!” he bellowed into the interior of the car. He rubbed at this chest because his heart was pounding. He swore he was going to have a heart attack and a damn aneurism.
His relief was short-lived when she finally answered. Because she didn’t greet him with a “hello” or an “I’m sorry for worrying the fuck out of you.” Fuck no.
She immediately shrieked, “He stole it!”
Her voice held the same tremor it had the first time she called him asking for help. “Yeah, El, he stole a lot of fucking money.” She wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.
“I’m not talking about George! I’m talking about Gerald.”
What the fuck was she talking about? “What did he steal?”
“The money!”
Walker pressed the heel of hand into his forehead and stared at his lap. “What money?”
Guts & Glory: Walker (In the Shadows Security Book 4) Page 19