Part 12
The old office building on Oak Street was dark.
The windows on the third floor were the only ones casting a dim light onto the snowy pavement below.
Derek parked the car a block away.
The windshield wipers scraped heavily against the glass.
"Mom, you stay in the car," Derek said. His hand was tight on the steering wheel.
"No," I said. "We go together."
"It's dangerous," he argued. "We don't know if he's alone."
"He thinks he's safe, Derek. He thinks Felicia and Cassandra are taking the fall."
"An old woman and her son won't scare him."
"That is our advantage."
We got out of the car, shielding our faces from the biting wind.
The front door of the building was locked, but the latch was old.
Derek put his shoulder against it and pushed hard.
With a loud click, the frame gave way.
We slipped inside the dark lobby.
The air smelled of old paper and damp concrete.
We walked up the stairs quietly, avoiding the creaking steps.
When we reached the third floor, a door at the end of the hallway was cracked open.
A sliver of yellow light cut across the linoleum floor.
Inside, we could hear the rapid clicking of a keyboard.
And a man's voice, muttering angrily.
"...come on, transfer... speed up..."
Derek looked at me. I nodded.
He pushed the door open completely.
A young man in his late twenties jumped up from a desk.
He had three laptops open in front of him, cables running everywhere.
A packed duffel bag sat on the floor next to his chair.
It was Thomas Vance.
"Who the hell are you?" he shouted, his hand instantly reaching for a heavy metal paperweight on the desk.
"I'm Derek Parker," Derek said, stepping into the room.
"The man whose life you just tried to steal."
Thomas froze. His eyes darted to the laptops, then to the door behind us.
He let out a nervous laugh.
"I don't know what you're talking about, man."
"You're in the wrong place."
"You're using my son's identity to drain sixty thousand dollars into a Swiss account, Thomas," I said, stepping out from behind Derek.
"And the police already know about this office."
Thomas's face shifted. The confusion disappeared, replaced by a cold, arrogant smirk.
"The police?" he laughed. "By the time they get here, this transaction will be complete."
"The money will be in a numbered account that doesn't require a name."
"And as for your son's identity? It's already broadcasted to three different credit networks."
"You can't stop it."
He reached down to hit a key on the main laptop.
"Derek, stop him!" I screamed.
Derek lunged across the desk.
Thomas threw the heavy paperweight, hitting Derek in the shoulder.
Derek groaned but didn't stop.
He tackled Thomas to the floor, sending chairs crashing into the walls.
The main laptop was pulled to the edge of the desk, its screen flickering.
I ran forward.
On the screen, a progress bar read: Transferring Funds... 84% Complete.
There was a large red button on the interface that said Cancel.
May you like
I reached out my hand to click it.
Suddenly, a hand gripped my throat from behind.
