Chapter 9: The Last Move
Emily stared at the message.
"Carl Pruitt," I said.
"The real estate broker from Dennis's footage."
"Why would he warn us?"
"Call him and ask."
She hesitated for only a moment, then dialed.
It rang twice.
"Ms.
Mercer." His voice was careful, measured.
"Thank you for calling back."
"Mr.
Pruitt, why are you telling us this?"
A pause.
"Because I made a mistake two years ago when Jason first approached me.
He asked me to help him with the property transfer application.
I prepared some of the paperwork.
I told myself it was a standard transaction." Another pause.
"It wasn't.
I knew it wasn't.
And I filed it anyway."
Emily looked at me.
I leaned closer to hear.
"When the county suspended the application, I thought it was over," Pruitt continued.
"But tonight Jason came to my office and asked me to help him transfer certain personal assets — accounts, a vehicle, some equipment — into a holding company before your lawyer can attach them as part of the civil settlement."
"That's hiding assets," Emily said.
"Yes.
I told him I wouldn't do it.
I told him I wasn't going to compound what I'd already done." His voice dropped.
"Ms.
Mercer, I'm going to call your lawyer tomorrow and tell him everything I know about the transfer application.
I should have done that before any of this reached this point.
I'm sorry I didn't."
Emily ended the call.
She sat very still.
"He's trying to hide what's left," she said.
I was already texting Gerald.
Gerald called back in four minutes.
I put him on speaker.
"Walter, if Jason is attempting to move assets tonight, we need to act before morning.
I'm going to call a colleague who handles asset preservation orders.
We can file an emergency motion tonight if necessary." His voice was clipped and precise.
"Emily, is Pruitt willing to provide a sworn statement?"
"He said he'd call you tomorrow."
"I need him tonight.
Can you ask him to call me directly in the next thirty minutes?"
Emily sent Pruitt a text.
The reply came back in under a minute: *Yes.
Calling now.*
Gerald was already off the line.
The next two hours moved in a way I hadn't experienced since the early years of driving a bus through a bad Columbus winter — everything demanding full attention, no room for anything else.
Gerald filed the emergency motion at 10:47 p.m.
A duty judge reviewed it and granted a temporary asset freeze by midnight.
Jason's phone must have rung sometime after that, because at 12:23 a.m.
I heard the guest room door open.
Footsteps in the hallway.
A long silence outside the kitchen.
Then his voice, low and tight, through the door: "Emily."
She was still at the kitchen table.
She looked at the door but didn't move.
"Emily, they froze my accounts.
I can't — I need you to call your lawyer and tell him this is a misunderstanding.
Tell him we're working it out."
She said nothing.
"Emily.
Please."
She stood up.
She walked to the kitchen door and opened it.
Jason stood in the hallway in a t-shirt and jeans, his phone in his hand, looking smaller than I had ever seen him.
"I need your help," he said.
"I know," she said.
"Then call—"
"No." She said it quietly.
No anger in it.
Just a door closing.
"I'm not going to do that, Jason."
He looked past her at me.
One last time.
The appeal, the calculation, the careful expression — all of it was gone.
What was left was just a man who had run a very long con and finally reached the end of it.
"You should call your lawyer," I said.
"First thing in the morning."
He stood there a moment longer.
Then he went back down the hall.
Emily closed the kitchen door.
She sat back down.
She picked up her tea, which had long gone cold, and held it in both hands anyway.
"Is it over?" she asked.
"The worst of it," I said.
She nodded slowly.
May you like
Outside, the street was quiet.
Somewhere down the block, Dennis Hale's motion-sensor light clicked on, then off again.
