by April Zyon
From there, it was history in Brant’s books. What he still didn’t understand was why Helen had kept the “business” going.
Entering the interrogation room, he moved to the table where Helen was in prison wear and cuffed to the table. Sitting down, he looked at her. He didn’t say anything, just stared at her. She looked older than her sixty-two years under the harsh light. She also looked relieved.
“Why?” he finally asked.
Thankfully, she didn’t pretend to not know what he meant. Brant might very well have lost it on her if she had. She let out a heavy sigh, and leaned forward so she was braced on the table top.
“When I first took over, it was because I had a gun to my head. Do this or we’ll see you punished in ways that will take years, etcetera, etcetera. I was twenty at the time when the reins were first passed to me. I was still under training, but the woman who’d put me in the position stepped back to an advisory role for the next five years before retiring. I won’t give you her name. It doesn’t matter anymore anyway. She’s been dead for the last twenty years. Hit and run with a drunk driver.”
Brant gave a nod. He’d let her have that. The other woman wasn’t why he was there anyway, so he’d let it go.
“By twenty-five, I was in full control. The operation was still small, but growing. The men in the top positions were overseas, so I didn’t have the weight of them watching me, thankfully. But I knew they had people here, constantly keeping me under the microscope to ensure I didn’t run. At some point, I stopped caring entirely. I can’t say for sure when, or why, but something that had been broken inside of me crumbled completely. By age thirty-two, I was expanding the operation, sourcing out to find the young runaways, homeless, or troubled teens that men wanted. I’d get a shopping list, I suppose you could call it, for some of the highest bidders. When I found a young woman or young man that fit their criteria, there was extra money in it for me. A bonus, I suppose you could call it.” She shrugged and looked away. “After a while, it becomes all you know. Once that happens, there’s no going back. I never once took a girl or boy from Massey. While I might be an immoral bitch, I was not going to hurt those where I lived. My one and only rule, I guess you could call it. Then Howe got greedy and started to model his ring after what I’d been doing. When he started to take the girls from Massey, I knew he had to be stopped. Not like I could just walk into a federal building and tell them what I knew—they’d wonder how I knew. I still have superiors I answer to, even after all this time. But I knew they wouldn’t like the attention Howe was bringing to my turf, so I made a few anonymous calls.”
“We read the diaries, we know about this. Why the diaries?” He was curious about that, seemed rather like nailing your own coffin shut.
“In the beginning, it was in case I found a way out. I’d have documented proof of events, meetings and such that could be checked and verified. I’d hoped to turn everything into the FBI at some point and stop all of this. Then it became a way to ensure that if I was caught, everyone else would be taken out as well. Did you find the one with the lists of names?” she asked.
Brant nodded. “We did. We don’t know what the codes next to them mean, though.”
“On the computer you took from the office is the key to unlock that code. The numbers are a ranking system I created to show who was where in the organization. Any with a star next to the number are now deceased. So when you see the same number by a different name, that is their successor.”
Sneaky, clever, and a tell-all of sorts. Pushing to his feet, he headed for the door.
“I never meant for this to ever touch Massey, Brant. You have to know that. I did everything to keep it away from here.”
Hand on the doorknob, he shot her a look. “If that were true, you should have turned yourself and everyone else in years ago.” He got out of that room. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to anything else, and all he wanted to do was hold onto his wife and his kids. The agencies would attend to the arrests of the rest of those involved, as well as Interpol for everyone overseas.
Frank was leaning against the one-way mirror staring into the room at Helen. “Scary to know she was right here, under our noses the entire time. Makes you wonder who else is lurking around our hometown.”
“Don’t,” Brant said. Holding up a hand, he shook his head. “Just don’t. I’ll never fucking sleep again if you go putting that shit into my head. We got her, we’ll take the rest of the ring down, and that’s all that matters. God, I need a drink,” he muttered.
“Let’s get home. The others will be anxious to know this is finally over. Especially a certain few.” Megan and Eli to name two. Mercy, Brant’s wife, would be as well. So would any of the others who they’d told a bit of this horror story to.
“Yeah. Good plan.” Brant headed out of the observation room and over to where Martin was sitting on the corner of a desk. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Thank God,” Martin said. “Mama’s been texting me non-stop for the last twenty minutes since Athena let her know the op went down clean and we got our woman.”
“I can imagine,” Frank said.
“By the way,” Martin asked as they headed for the door. “What the hell is a napkin ring?”
Frank shared a look with Brant. His lips twitching, Brant wrapped an arm around Martin’s shoulders. “Bro, that is what is known as a trap in the world of our mother. Just tell her to use her best judgment because you trust her impeccable tastes. Don’t say anything else, don’t ask questions, don’t blink.”
“Oh.”
Frank chuckled from Martin’s other side. “You asked her what it was, didn’t you?”
“Uh, yeah,” Martin muttered.
Laughing, Brant slapped him on the back. “You are such a sucker.”
Martin threw him the middle finger. Still laughing, he climbed into his truck and pulled out his phone. Calling Mercy, he let out a breath at hearing her voice. “I’m coming home, love. See you soon,” he whispered to her. A few words more and he hung up. While Frank was right that they didn’t know what else might be lurking in Massey, for the moment, they had one nightmare shut down. And for him, that was one hell of a fantastic Christmas present. More than good enough for him.
Throwing the truck in gear, he headed for home.
The End
www.april-zyon.com
Other Books by April Zyon:
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