Chapter 11 - Howerin’s Last Offer
The watch had belonged to Victor Vale.
Dante’s uncle.
That was the part Dante had never told me.
We were back in Naomi’s office, where increasingly terrible family history seemed to prefer fluorescent lighting.
Dante sat across from me with both hands flat on the table.
“Victor wore that watch every day for twenty years,” he said. “Custom leather strap. Engraved case. I would recognize the crack in the glass anywhere.”
“How did Dad get it?”
“The night Ward found me, Victor was there first.”
My mouth went dry.
“Your uncle shot you himself?”
“Yes.”
Naomi looked up sharply.
“And survived the aftermath?”
“For a while.”
That sentence carried enough history to make me not ask how long.
Dante continued.
“Victor believed I had been collecting evidence against his trafficking routes. He was right. Breck Howerin worked for him then. Not as a boss. As a transport coordinator.”
I thought of Dad’s notebook.
B.V.L.
Breck Vale Line.
Not merely Breck’s shell company.
A line tied to the Vale organization under Victor.
“The night you were shot,” I said, “Dad found you behind the old garage.”
“Yes.”
“And Victor’s watch?”
“Ward told me later that he found it near the drainage ditch. He must have kept it because it placed Victor at the scene.”
“But he never gave it to police.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because the responding detective was on Victor’s payroll.”
Of course.
Every path led back to the same lesson: Dad had learned too early that the wrong official could turn evidence into a map to your front door.
“So Dad kept the watch.”
“Yes.”
“And years later, Howerin knew he still had it.”
Dante’s face tightened.
“Probably.”
Naomi tapped her pen.
“If the watch can be authenticated and linked to Victor, it may corroborate historic allegations, but Victor is dead. The more important question is why Howerin cares now.”
I knew.
“Because it proves his criminal relationship with Victor goes back farther than he claims.”
Dante nodded.
“And because if Ward documented that night, he may also have documented who else was there.”
The Chevelle.
Breck had stolen it because he believed Dad hid one more layer of evidence inside.
At noon, Howerin called again.
This time he did not bother hiding the number.
“Meet me,” he said.
“No.”
“I have the car.”
“I’ve accepted my loss.”
“You’re lying.”
“Frequently.”
He sighed.
“I am trying to be reasonable.”
“You burned my garage.”
“Allegedly.”
“You kidnapped the wrong teenager.”
“Also allegedly.”
“You really should vary your vocabulary.”
His voice hardened.
“Bring the watch. Bring whatever was behind the lift plate. You get the Chevelle back, your brother stays untouched, and your business problems disappear.”
Naomi, listening beside me, wrote KEEP HIM TALKING on a legal pad.
I asked, “What business problems?”
“Debt can be purchased.”
My stomach tightened.
“You bought my loan.”
“Not yet.”
Yet.
“You think you can own me because a bank owns paper?”
“No, Marin. I think everyone has a price. Yours simply wears overalls.”
I looked at Naomi.
She gave a tiny nod.
“Where?” I asked.
“Your garage. Tomorrow. Six.”
“The garage is a fire scene.”
“Then we’ll both feel sentimental.”
He hung up.
Federal investigators did not like the idea of me meeting him.
I did not like the idea either.
That helped.
People do foolish things when they confuse not being afraid with being prepared.
I was afraid.
I also wanted Howerin on record explaining exactly what he believed he had done to my father and why.
The plan was boring, which meant Naomi approved.
No hidden pistol in my waistband.
No dramatic signal phrase.
I would wear a body microphone under a mechanic’s jacket. The garage would be monitored from neighboring buildings. Dante’s people would remain away from the immediate perimeter because their presence could complicate both evidence and safety.
Dante hated that part.
“You are not law enforcement,” Naomi told him.
“I’m aware.”
“You do not enter unless the team requests it.”
“What if something goes wrong?”
“Then trained officers respond.”
“I have trained people.”
“Not in lawful evidence collection.”
Dante looked at me.
I said, “She’s right.”
He exhaled slowly.
“I dislike both of you.”
“Excellent,” Naomi said. “We’re building consensus.”
That night, I barely slept.
At three in the morning, I drove to the impound lot where Dad’s cracked watch was being held as evidence. I did not take it. I simply looked at it through the property-room glass after an investigator agreed to meet me.
The hands remained frozen at 3:12.
A stranger’s watch.
A stranger who tried to kill Dante.
An object Dad kept because he believed facts mattered even when institutions failed.
I finally understood the burden he had carried.
He was not playing detective because he liked danger.
He was collecting enough truth that one corrupt person could not erase it.
The next evening, I entered the burned shell of Ashb Auto at 5:43.
The electricity had been restored to one circuit. A single work light hung above Bay One.
Rain tapped against the temporary plywood covering the office window.
At 6:02, a black sedan stopped outside.
Breck Howerin stepped out alone.
No guards.
No visible weapon.
He walked into my garage carrying Dad’s Chevelle key between two fingers.
“You came,” he said.
“You have my car?”
“Nearby.”
“Define nearby.”
He smiled.
“Still difficult.”
“Still alive.”
For the first time, his smile vanished completely.
He looked around the fire damage.
“You should have taken the first offer.”
The microphone beneath my jacket suddenly felt very heavy.
I asked, “Is that what you told my father too?”
Breck’s gaze settled on me.
Then he said, “Your father made the same mistake you’re making now.”
“What mistake?”
“He thought evidence made him untouchable.”
Outside, somewhere I could not see, investigators were recording every word.
I took one slow breath.
“So you burned him out.”
Breck tilted his head.
“No, Marin.”
He stepped closer.
“I burned the garage.”
May you like
His voice softened.
“Your father was supposed to walk away.”
