“Is that what this is?”
He turned his head quickly back to me. “Do you think it’s fair that Chase makes all the money, and the people that risk their lives for this country are broke? I risked my life for the United States of America, for all who live in this great country, even for people like Chase, and I have nothing. Nothing. I have nothing to leave Millie. Not a cent. And Kyle and Tanya, well, they lost everything they had in one of Chase’s schemes. Of course, Chase doesn’t pay for it, does he? He still gets to live in his nice penthouse, he still gets his commissions. But us hard working people, the people that make this country work, we get nothing. It’s always that way. Do you think that’s fair?”
I didn’t answer, but Damon wasn’t looking for an answer. He was looking for a way to explain the situation he was in. To justify kidnapping his own granddaughter.
“I have nothing to give to Millie. Nothing.” His voice was beginning to break down with emotion. “This ransom was my way of giving Millie something. I was going to give it all back to the people that lost their money in Chase’s criminal scheme. Those who are still alive that is. You know some of them are dead because of what he did? One guy, a loner, died by suicide. He had no family to give the money to. I was going to leave that portion of the funds to Millie. I could have helped the other people he stole from—including Kyle and Tanya—and then have a little bit to leave as a trust fund for Millie. A present from her grandfather, something to be proud of and something to remember me by.”
I could see what he was trying to do. But I had to remain cold. I was here to rescue a little girl, and to protect Chase’s money. That was what I was hired to do. I couldn’t be moved by Damon’s sob story. Whatever his reasons, what he did was still a criminal act, and nothing either of us said or did now could change what had happened.
My response was blunt. “It’s a bit late for leaving her something now.”
“You think I haven’t tried my whole life?” Damon finally let the anger out. “I went to war, I came back and worked sixty hours a week for thirty years. I owned a home, a business and investments, but we lost all that in the financial crisis. We lost everything. When I lost my wife, I had nothing else. I even had to rent a tiny apartment that was falling apart. I worked hard my whole life and I had nothing to leave my angel.”
I lowered my weapon as I watched a single tear run down Damon’s cheek.
He was a strong man, but he had reached his limit.
Damon wasn’t a threat.
Not to me, and certainly not to Millie.
“I just wanted to leave her something, you know? I thought if I could just leave her with some money, she could be more independent when she grows older. Even with that prick of a father, she’s going to grow up to be a wonderful woman. I know that. I can sense it. She’s a good person, a really great person. With so much potential.”
I stepped forward and rested my hand on his shoulder.
“Chase is an evil man. He deserves to go to prison, not me.” Damon continued. “He’s the one breaking the law every month, every day, ripping off innocent people like Kyle, and all the others that were part of the investment group.”
“You wanted to give the money back to them. How did you find them all?”
He snorted. “I know Chase, he’s lazy. After the easy buck. I knew a couple of people who had invested with him and I figured they would all be linked somehow. A nephew here, a friend there. I managed to find most of them in the end. Not like I have much else to do. Even got one of those nice volunteers at the local library to help with the internet searches, I’m not much good with modern technology, but I just told them I was reaching out to my extended family before I died and they were happy to help. There are still decent people in the world. People who will help a friend in need. Especially one who, like them, has nothing. Why is it always those who have the least that are the ones who give the most?”
He shook his head and smiled.
I had just one more question.
“But how did you know Chase had ripped them off? How did you find out it wasn’t just a normal investment gone wrong?”
“When I went to pick up Millie one day, I overheard Chase on the phone talking about what he did to those men. He set up fake companies in other countries, and then took the money. It was a scam. It was all a scam. I took that information to the police, but they said they didn’t have enough to charge him with it. All the companies were outside of their jurisdiction. He’s the real criminal. Not me.”
Damon gestured to a messy pile of papers on the desk. “It’s all there. I can’t afford to pay you, you know that, but I think you’re an honest person. I have a feeling about you. I’d appreciate it if you would take the information and see if you can do anything to help those poor people that Chase ripped off. There’s nothing more I can do now. I gave it my best shot. And it would have worked had it not been for you, Mr. Valentine. I guess in the end you were just too good for me. You’ve got your man and you’ve solved the case. But please, grant this old dying man a final wish, take a look at those papers and see what you can do to help those people. Those who need it most.”
I thought for a few moments before nodding. It was the least I could do.
I gathered up the papers before continuing.
“Sir, it’s time to go.”
He forced another smile, and then stood proudly. He led me out of the door, and I couldn’t help but feel heartbroken for the man. He was a hero, a hard worker, an honorable person, and he had been ripped off by people like Chase Martin. He had been ripped off by life. And this was all that was left for him.
I walked out with Damon in front of me but as we stepped out of the front door, he stopped.
There was a light rain falling now, refreshing and cleansing after the tension of the day.
“I forgot my jacket.” Damon turned to me, a tear in his eye. He was shaking slightly. “Do you mind if I go back inside the workshop and get it?”
I knew what that meant.
I knew there was no jacket.
I nodded, and he turned.
“Wait.” I stopped him and held out my hand to shake his. “Thank you for your service to our country.”
He hesitated, and then shook my hand with all the strength he had left. It was a frail grip, but one filled with pride.
He gave me a nod, pulled his shoulders back, and walked back into the warehouse.
I didn’t wait. I began walking down the driveway, back towards the car.
As I took my phone out of my pocket, ready to call Casey, the sound of a gunshot snapped through the silent night.
I sighed and hung my head.
Turning back to the dark building and with a heavy heart, I made the sign of the cross.
“Damon Hardy. May you rest in peace.”
Chapter 29
Five minutes until drop.
I was parked in my truck, watching the scene for any sign of a giveaway. The rain had cleared from earlier, giving everything a fresh feel as if the air itself had been washed clean. I had a perfect view of what I needed to see, the park, the bench where the drop was to be made, and of Chase.
Chase was ready, waiting at the edge of the park. Even in the dark, I could see he was edgy, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, wanting to pace but I’d told him not to move from that spot until I gave him the word. Dressed in black, he had the bag in his left hand, a small knife in his right. He didn’t own a gun. Never even had fired one. He said that he never trusted himself with them and didn’t want them in his house. I didn’t try to talk him out of taking the knife, even though I knew it was a bad idea, he would have done it anyway, and at least this way I was prepared for what he might do.
We had talked earlier and I told him to keep calm. I told him to focus on his breath when things seemed overwhelming. I repeated over and over that no amount of money was worth the life of his daughter. He looked confused at first, but after thirty minutes of talking, he reluctantly agreed
with my point of view. I’d set him up with an earpiece, and I had the microphone clipped to the top of my shirt. To reassure him, to make sure he kept to the plan, and to try and prevent him from bolting into the night with the cash.
I informed him that we were dealing with dangerous people. People that were willing to kill for the money. To kill Millie but also kill him. Chase was scared, no doubt about that, but he was most fearful of losing the money he illegitimately gained. We had never talked about the details of his business, we never talked about how he raised the money to live the lifestyle he lived. It was clear to me all along that he was corrupt, it was clear that he didn’t have a moral bone in his body, but that didn’t matter because the life of an innocent girl was at stake. Millie Martin had never done anything wrong, never betrayed anyone, and she didn’t deserve to be punished for her father’s immoral deeds.
Chase’s evasion of the FBI was a clear indication of how deeply his corrupt business ran. He must’ve known that the longer he played with fire, the more likely he was to get burned. The longer he played the game, the higher the chances that he would lose. The house always wins.
The park was empty, as expected. There were no children running around, no mothers chasing little ones, and there were no dogs barking in the distance. The moon was dim and low in the sky, the glow from the city lights drowning out any chance to see any stars. A drunk homeless man had rested on a park bench earlier that night, but I gave him a fifty and told him to move along. He looked excited, like it was the most money he had ever seen, and he happily walked out of the park. I was concerned he might’ve been a cop, but then Chase would never have called them. Especially at this late stage.
It was time.
The bell was about to toll.
Chase’s hand shot up to his ear as I spoke, and I had to remind him that it was a giveaway that he was wearing an earpiece. I told him to relax. To act natural. But his natural state was a constant paranoia and suspicion. He judged the world by his own morality. To him the world was full of people like him. People who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of him for their own good.
“Walk up to the bench, place the bag on the bench, and walk straight back here. Don’t stop, don’t even pause. Look straight ahead at all times, we don’t want to spook anyone.”
Chase nodded slightly, but I could see his face just well enough to know that he was considering other options. He was imagining a fight for the money. Of pulling out his knife and making a futile last stand. I had to hope he would do as asked. I told him I couldn’t have him endangering Millie. That he should focus on her and work to keep her safe at all times.
Under the darkness of the night, I watched as Chase moved towards the park bench, looking over both shoulders, looking for any movement in the park. I had considered giving him a microphone as well, but decided against it as I didn’t want to hear any more whining about how much money he was about to lose. I had already heard too much of that talk up until this point. Tonight he would have to remain silent for once and simply follow orders.
He stepped towards the designated drop area, close to the sidewalk on the other side of the park, and reached to place the bag on the bench. He hesitated as if some unseen force was imploring him to hold onto the bag.
“Put the bag down, Chase. Put it down, right now!” I commanded through his earpiece.
With a frustrated sigh he placed it down on the bench but his grip held strong. He didn’t move for a few moments, still holding the bag, not wanting to leave that amount of money alone in the park.
“Let go, Chase!”
Finally, he stepped back. Scowling across the park, looking under trees and into the dark recesses of bushes, searching out the hidden location of the unseen recipient of the ransom.
But still he waited, much too close to the bag, almost within arms’ reach.
“Move back,” I said from inside my truck, parked across the road, staring at the night.
Against my earlier advice, Chase pushed his finger in his ear. He heard the instructions through his earpiece, I could see his reluctance, but he moved back a few steps. Not far enough.
“Further,” I spoke into the microphone. “You’re too close. You need to move back to the other side of the playground as planned. Get away from the bag, Chase. Move away from the bench.”
He hesitated and I could see his grip tighten on the knife in his hand.
“Chase, your daughter’s life is at stake. You need to move back further. You mustn’t put her at risk.”
Still, he hesitated, but after a few moments he moved.
As soon as he had reached the other side of the park, a van pulled up to the sidewalk close to the bench. Chase took a step forward, ready to confront whoever was in there. The van slowly started to move again.
“Hold on,” I warned him. “We don’t even know if Millie is in there yet and if they see you move, they will leave. This will all be over and you will never see Millie again.”
Reluctantly, Chase stepped back again.
Still with its engine running, the van came to a complete stop.
We waited. I was conscious that I was holding my breath, but this was the make or break moment.
Millie stepped out of the back of the van.
For a moment, she looked around confused, and then she saw Chase.
“Daddy,” she cried out with joy.
She ran towards her father.
Chase went to move.
“Don’t move! Wait for her to come to you. They may be armed. This is not over yet.”
Millie reached Chase and threw her arms around his legs. He gave her a quick rub on the arms then moved her behind him, his eyes on the bag the whole time.
Chase was itching to go for the bag.
Within seconds, before Chase could react any further, I instructed his next moves.
“Get out of the park!” I yelled into my microphone. “And get in my car!”
I saw him look first at Millie and then towards the bag.
I could almost hear him shout, ‘What about the money?’ but that shouldn’t have been his concern and it certainly wasn’t mine.
“Get to the car, Chase! Or this will not end well!” I shouted again, and roared my truck to life, pulling to the curb near Chase. “Keep your daughter safe!”
No one else got out of the van. It sped off into the night before anyone could grab the bag.
The black bag was still on the park bench.
Millie was hugging her father’s legs.
I could sense Chase’s hesitation; I could see his reluctance. Roaring the truck in first gear, I drove over the sidewalk and onto the grassed area of the park.
“Get in the truck!” I yelled at him through the window. “Get Millie into the truck!”
He looked at me, then to his daughter hugging his leg, and then back to the bag. The bag was twenty yards away, close enough for a sprint.
“Don’t do it, Chase!” I roared the accelerator of my truck. “Ignore the bag and get into the truck!”
“What about my money?” He yelled as Millie started crying. “We can’t leave it there!”
Just then headlights rounded the corner and approached the park.
“They’re coming for it, Chase!” I yelled. “If you go for it now, you’ll get shot! We have to leave! Now!”
He took one last look at the money, and then turned to the truck. Picking Millie up, he ran the few yards and placed Millie on the backseat before scrambling in after her.
In that instant, I roared the accelerator of my truck, spinning the tires, and sped away down the street almost before he had even closed the door.
“What about my money? Where is Casey? Is she keeping an eye on it?” He pleaded with me.
“Casey is doing her job.” I turned sharply around a corner. “Right now, our focus is getting Millie out of here.”
Chase looked over his shoulder as we drove away. Millie hugged him tight, but his eyes were on the park as we sped down the road.
We’d left the bag there. We’d left the money behind.
All one million dollars.
Chapter 30
Five days after the intense night, five days after the drop, I sat in my office, feet up on my table, sipping on a glass of whiskey. It was early in the day but so what. Winston Churchill used to have a daily ‘whiskey mouthwash’ in the morning. And if it was good enough for him then it was good enough for me. He once said, ‘When I was younger I made it a rule never to take a strong drink before lunch. It is now my rule never to do so before breakfast.’ Quite right, too. Mine was a glass of Basil Hayden’s, my favorite spirit, a lighter-bodied bourbon. A buttery flavored whiskey with a smooth finish, it was liquid gold, a perfect punch of alcohol and aroma. One of life’s little pleasures and one I felt was well earned.
It had been a crazy two weeks but I was feeling uncharacteristically relaxed.
I sat at my desk reading a second-hand book I picked up that morning, a book by Agatha Christie. A real five star read. The pages were worn, the writing faded, but the story remained the same—a gripping, page-turning and fabulous tale of a private detective. There was no doubt that Hercule Poirot was the greatest investigator in literary history. I read many of those stories as I was growing up, and I often hoped that I would arrive at a remote five-star hotel, where we were snowed in, and one of the guests was murdered during the night. I would gather up the ten other people staying at the hotel, and systematically work out who the killer was in the luxurious surroundings. As a Private Investigator, that was my dream, but mostly, I had to settle for the cut and dried world of crime and betrayal in Chicago.
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