Chapter 102

Apparently, one of Andrew’s connections happened to be the city’s greatest private investigator, retired police detective Anthony Jones. In a couple of weeks, he managed to track down the accountant’s—John Brown’s—current location and some key information that I could leverage against him. One piece in particular surprised me, but it was also my best bet at getting Mr. Brown to side with me.

On my day off, I drove four hours south of the city to Mr. Brown’s secluded estate. It was a modest mid-century ranch house on a sprawling 700-acre plot of land. It didn’t seem to host any animals or crops, so I supposed that the acreage was only to secure his privacy.

I stopped the car as I approached the gate and the rudimentary buzzer system. I pressed the button beneath the speaker and waited for what felt like an eternity before someone answered.

“Yes? What do you want?” a male voice answered.

“I’m here to see Mr. John Brown,” I responded.

“And who are you?”

“My name is Crystal Blanchard. I co-owned a company that Mr. Brown used to be an accountant for.”

There was a long pause before the voice responded.

“I’m sorry, but I-Mr. Brown is not seeing anyone today. Or ever.”

I rolled my eyes at Mr. Brown’s horrible attempt to cover his tracks.

“Mr. Brown, please. I need to speak to you immediately. It’s urgent.”

“I’m afraid that I have nothing to say to you, Ms. Blanchard.”

“Would you have nothing to say to the person who anonymously paid for three-quarters of your college tuition?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Let me in, and I’ll show you.”

Another pause.

“Very well.”

A buzzing sound went off, and the gate swung open in front of me.

“Thank you!” I called out before pulling my car through the gate.

I parked at the end of the short drive, grabbed the thick manila folder from the passenger’s seat, and walked into Mr. Brown’s house.

The inside was decorated much like one would expect from a ranch house: Wild West décor everywhere. In the living room, a cowskin hide served as a rug, and a steer’s skull hung above the fireplace. Paintings of cowboys and desert sunsets decorated the walls, and leather and wooden furniture covered every inch of the floor.

Mr. Brown sat in a leather rocking chair facing the door. He was only a little older than I was, with a full head of brunette hair and a bulging beer belly. He wore a bolo tie with a turquoise center, a bull’s head belt buckle, and dark brown leather cowboy boots.

Someone had watched too many John Wayne movies as a child.

At his side rested a handgun. His hand lay on it, more to ensure that I saw it than to be ready to use it.

“Welcome, Ms. Blanchard,” Mr. Brown said in a stiff, formal greeting. He gestured to the couch across the coffee table from him. “Come, have a seat.”

I nodded courteously and sat down. The leather stuck to my exposed skin, but I pretended to not be bothered by it.

“So,” Mr. Brown continued, “you said that you have something regarding the person who paid for most of my college tuition. Out with it.”

“First, are you sure that you don’t want to just tell me what Bob did with my company?”

Mr. Brown paled. His grip on the gun tightened.

“You know what Bob is capable of. He’ll kill me if I talk.”

My mind flashed to the vampires. I shuddered. Bob could do much worse than kill the accountant if he talked, but I needed the information that he had.

“I know, but I need your help. The only way that we can bring him down is together.”

I stared into his eyes. I needed to know what level of affinity he had for me.

“Thirty-three percent,”Susan said.“He needs more convincing.”

I looked away. He had to be unnerved by the intense eye contact by now.

“Mr. Brown, I know that you’re scared of Bob. I am, too. I’m sure that he gave you a sizeable amount of hush money to disappear too, if you bought a property this large.”

When I glanced his way, Mr. Brown could not look at me. I had clearly struck a nerve.

“But he won’t leave you alone just because you stay quiet.”

“Why not?” Mr. Brown asked. “He has so far.”

“Because I won’t stop digging, and so long as I keep digging, we’ll both be a threat to him. And Bob doesn’t like threats.”

I could hear Mr. Brown swallow. He tapped his fingers against the handle of his gun.

“Then you should stop digging,” he concluded. “It’ll be the only way to keep us both safe.”

“I’ll never be safe.” My hand shook as I ran it through my hair. “He’s already tried to kill me.”

Mr. Brown’s eyes widened.

“Then why are you trying to mess with him?”

“Because he won’t leave me alone either way. The only way I’ll be rid of him is to put him away for a long time, and here, I have proof. With you, I have proof.”

Mr. Brown shook his head.

“I can’t. I just can’t.”

I sighed and ran my hand through my hair again.

“Would you do it for my mother?”

Mr. Brown’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What does your mother have to do with any of this?”

“She was the one who anonymously paid for three-quarters of your tuition.”

Mr. Brown didn’t speak for a moment.

“No. She couldn’t have been. You’re lying.”

I shuffled through the paperwork and pulled out a stack from the middle of the pile. I handed it to him, and he took it tentatively.

“Here are her bank statements, tax records, and correspondence with your university from that time period,” I explained. “Put together, these documents paint a picture of my mother taking pity on a young, almost homeless wannabe accountant entering his second year of college after hearing about him from a friend of hers who happened to be a professor at his university. I think that you can figure out who that wannabe accountant was.”

Mr. Brown skimmed through the documents. His lower lip trembled as tears pricked the edges of his eyes. When he finished with the documents, he set them on the coffee table, rubbed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” he said.

I leaned forward and put my hand on his knee.

“Say that you’ll help me take Bob down.”

Our eyes met.

“His affinity for you is 85%,”Susan declared.

“Yes,” he said at last. “Yes, I will help you.”

He ran his hand over his face.

“I am so, so sorry,” he continued. “I shouldn’t have been so stubborn. I’m just…Bob is so frightening…”

I patted his knee.

“I know that he is. I forgive you,” I said. “What’s important is that we compile our evidence against Bob.”

Mr. Brown nodded and removed his hand from his gun.

“All right. So, it started with skimming from the profits—”

“Wait a second.” I pulled out my phone. “Do you mind if I record this?”

Mr. Brown shook his head.

“No, go ahead.”

I pressed the record button and nodded at him to start again.

He cleared his throat.

“My name is John Brown, and I am the former accountant for Full Moon Clothing Limited. I am here to testify against the unscrupulous financial acts of co-owner Bob Adams. It all began with skimming from the profits…”