Todd hit me with the full momentum of his two-hundred-pound frame.
The edge of the plastic lockbox slammed into my left shoulder, spinning me hard against the doorframe. My head cracked against the jamb, sending a sharp starburst of white light across my vision. I stumbled back onto the breezeway concrete, my shoes skidding on the wet leaves blown up by the storm.
Todd didn't stop to look back. He leaped down the half-flight of stairs, taking them three at a time, his leather dress shoes slipping on the wet edges.
"Todd! Stop!" I shouted, shaking the fog from my head and lunging over the iron handrail.
Down in the courtyard, the first Henrico patrol cruiser swung around the median, its spotlight slicing through the dark, pinning Todd in a blinding circle of white light.
"Police! Stay where you are! Hands where we can see them!" a voice boomed over the cruiser's PA system.
Todd didn't freeze. The panic had taken full control of his nervous system. Instead of dropping the box, he sprinted across the sodden lawn toward his BMW, ducking his head against the driving rain. He scrambled into the driver's seat, slammed the door, and the twin turbocharged engine roared to life with a guttural bark that echoed off the brick apartment blocks.
"Clear the lane!" the officer yelled, jumping back behind his door as Todd threw the M3 into reverse.
The tires screamed against the slick asphalt, kicking up plumes of water and shredded turf. The BMW swung wide, its rear bumper clipping a metal light pole with a sickening crunch of fiberglass, before Todd snapped the shifter into drive and floored it.
The car tore past the second patrol cruiser, missing its front fender by six inches, and shot out of the complex onto West Broad Street, running the red light at the intersection and fish-tailing through four lanes of traffic.
I hit the bottom of the stairs, breathing hard, my shoulder throbbing with a deep, dull ache. Detective Wright’s unmarked sedan pulled up beside the cruisers, his wipers slapping furiously against the glass. He rolled down his window, looking at me with a mixture of professional fury and grudging respect.
"I told you to stay out of the apartment, Miller," Wright said, leaning across the passenger seat.
"He's running for the interstate," I said, leaning down to his window. "His phone is pinging the Richmond cellular towers heading west toward I-64. But he's not heading out of state yet."
"How the hell do you know that?"
"Because the offshore wire transfer failed," I said, pulling up my phone’s terminal screen. "I placed a fraud flag on the originating routing number twenty minutes ago through Alder Creek’s banking portal. The funds are frozen in an escrow hold. He has no liquid cash except what's in his home safe in Henrico."
Wright stared at me for two seconds, then hit his siren. "Get in."
"I'll follow in my car," I replied. "Paige is at the house. My brother Caleb is with her, but Todd has a garage opener and a key to the master closet. If he's desperate enough to ram a cruiser, he’s desperate enough to do anything to get that safe open."
Wright didn't argue. He flicked his siren from standby to full wail and dropped the hammer, his tires biting into the wet pavement as he launched out of the parking lot.
I ran to my Civic, threw myself behind the wheel, and threw it into gear.
My phone was ringing continuously now. It was my father.
I didn't want to hear his voice. I didn't want to hear another lecture about practical trades, or loyalty, or how I had ruined another family dinner with my bitter, childish jealousy. But I answered it on speaker and laid it flat on the dashboard.
"Anthony!" Keith Miller’s voice roared through the speakers, thick with bourbon and righteous fury. "What in God's name did you do? Todd called from his car! He said you showed up with a bunch of gang members to some warehouse, trying to extort him! He says you're trying to ruin Paige’s life!"
"Dad," I said, my voice dead, flat, and colder than the rain outside. "Shut up and listen."
A beat of stunned silence on the other end. Keith Miller had never been told to shut up by his middle son in his entire life.
"Anthony, how dare you—"
"Todd is currently running from the Henrico Police Department," I said, accelerating through the yellow light onto Broad Street. "He just assaulted an officer with his vehicle after I caught him plundering the life savings of a seventy-four-year-old widow. Paige’s name is on every illegal contract he signed. And right now, he is driving eighty miles an hour toward your daughter's house to clean out their safe."
"That's... that's impossible," Dad stammered, the bravado suddenly leaking out of his voice, leaving it thin and fragile. "Todd is... he's a partner at the firm..."
"He was fired from his pharmaceutical firm fourteen months ago, Dad. He's been living off elderly women he met through grief support groups. If you want to protect your daughter, get in your truck and drive to Henrico right now. Because if Caleb tries to stop him alone, Todd is going to put him in the hospital."
I hung up before he could respond.
The highway was a black ribbon of mist and red brake lights. Ahead of me, five miles to the west, the storm clouds were gathering over the quiet, manicured lawns of Henrico County, where my sister was about to learn the true cost of our family’s favorite son-in-law.
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