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He opens the back of a white sprinter van, revealing a gagged and bound Aunt Catherine. Dried and cracked mascara stain her cheeks, and her pupils are bloodshot red from hours of crying.
She suddenly looks up, taking in the sights of both me and Michael, and she still looks stu
“She’ll be joining you wherever you go,” I say.
My dad swallows hard as sweat forms on his brow. There’s a pained look in his eyes, but there isn’t any remorse. He knows he’s lost this game. That there’s no chance for a comeback.
Michael takes the gun from me, sliding it into his waistband. “You may want to make that decision within the next ten seconds, Thatchwood,” he says, pulling out his phone. “The police are about to be on their way.”
“Option two,” he says, looking at me. “Option two…”
“Interesting choice.” Michael taps his phone screen a few times, and a yellow cab pulls out from one of the far parking spaces.
Trevor, dressed in a hoodie that covers his face, steps out of the driver’s seat and pops the trunk open. He doesn’t wait for my dad to catch his drift. He pulls out his own gun and forces him to get inside.
He and Michael gently carry my aunt to the backseat—wrapping her in a rug before shutting the door.
The moment Trevor returns to the car and pulls away, the elevator doors on the far end of the hall open. A group of policemen runs into the garage, searching for the man who will now be “gone-gone” from my life forever.
I don’t shed a single tear.