Chapter 7: Running South
Daniel called the fraud line before I could say a word.
"He used the card at 6:14 PM," he said into the phone, moving back into the hallway.
"I need that transaction flagged and the card frozen immediately.
Yes.
The account is already under a fraud hold — this is a secondary use.
The account holder is Robert Vega." He spelled my last name.
"There's an active referral to the Cook County financial crimes unit.
The contact is Officer Reyes, badge number—" He pulled a card from his pocket.
"—4471."
I heard the hold music from where I sat.
Gabriela hadn't moved.
She was watching the hallway where Daniel's voice came and went.
"He took cash too," she said quietly.
"Before the police came.
I saw him go to the bedroom.
He had an envelope."
"How much?"
"I don't know.
He kept cash in the nightstand.
He said it was for emergencies."
It was always for emergencies.
Daniel came back.
"Card is frozen.
The transaction at the gas station was declined — he must have tried it after the freeze went through.
But he already had whatever cash he pulled before he left."
"Gabriela says he had an envelope," I said.
Daniel looked at her.
"Any idea where he was going?"
"He has a cousin in Memphis," she said.
"They were close.
Javier used to say if things ever went bad, Tomas would put him up."
"Last name?"
"Reyes.
Tomas Reyes.
I don't have an address."
Daniel wrote it in his phone.
"I'll pass it to the fraud unit.
They'll coordinate with local law enforcement if they decide to pursue him across state lines.
That's not our job tonight."
"What is our job tonight?" I asked.
He sat back down.
"Making sure you're okay.
Making sure this house is yours again." He paused.
"And tomorrow morning, we're going to your bank in person.
We're going to sit down with their fraud officer and go through every transaction.
We're going to start the process of getting your money back."
"All of it?"
"As much as the law allows.
Which, given the Arizona connection and the physical evidence, might be more than you'd expect."
I thought about sixty-one thousand dollars.
I thought about the steakhouse on Michigan Avenue.
The pickup truck.
The weekend in Milwaukee.
Four decades of getting up before dawn, running into buildings that were on fire, and coming home smelling like smoke.
"He spent it like it was nothing," I said.
"He thought it was nothing," Daniel said.
"He thought you were nothing."
The words weren't cruel.
They were just true, and we both knew it.
Gabriela stood up abruptly and went to the sink.
She turned the tap on and stood there with her hands under the water for a moment, not washing anything.
"I need to ask you something," she said, her back to us.
"And I need you to answer honestly."
"All right," I said.
She turned off the tap.
Turned around.
"Do you want me to leave too?"
The kitchen was very quiet.
"No," I said.
"Daniel?" she asked.
He was quiet for a moment.
"That's Dad's call.
Not mine."
She looked at me.
Her eyes were dry now but there was something raw underneath them, something that had been there since the garage and hadn't gone away.
"I failed you," she said.
"I know that.
I'm not asking you to pretend I didn't.
I'm asking if there's any part of you that still wants me here."
I thought about Elena.
I thought about what she would have said — not the kind thing, necessarily, but the true thing.
Elena always found the true thing.
"Your mother used to say that the people who hurt us the most are usually the ones who are the most afraid," I said.
"She wasn't always right.
But she was right about that more often than not."
Gabriela's chin dropped.
"You can stay," I said.
"But things are going to be different."
"Yes," she said.
"They are."
Daniel's phone buzzed a third time.
He looked at it and this time he didn't try to keep his expression neutral.
"The financial crimes unit just emailed," he said.
"They found a third account."
"A third account?" I said.
"I only had two."
"You did," Daniel said.
"This one was opened six weeks ago.
In your name.
May you like
With your social security number." He looked up.
"You didn't open it."
