My Girlfriend Declined My Call All Night and Texted by Morning ”I was busy all night” I told her..

Remembered thinking she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, even with coffee dripping off her hands, even with that mortified look on her face. You asked for my number to send you the repair bill, she said. But then you asked if maybe we could get coffee again sometime somewhere with better aim. And I should have said no. My supervisor has a strict policy. No personal relationships during active cases. It compromises objectivity. But I gave you my number anyway. Why? Because for 5 minutes standing there covered in coffee talking to you, I forgot why I was really there. I forgot about Marcus, about the case, about all the terrible things I’d seen people do to each other.

I just saw you, Andrew, and I wanted to keep seeing you. Did your boss know about us? She found out 3 months ago.

Another investigator saw us at dinner and reported it. My supervisor called me into her office, told me I had to end things with you or she’d reassign me to a different office. Told me I was being unprofessional, that I was putting the firm at risk. Olivia’s grip on my hands tightened. I told her I wouldn’t. I told her I’d keep the case and you completely separate. Two different parts of my life. You chose me over your job. I chose you over a case, not my job. But yes, because you, Andrew, you’re not just some guy I’m dating. You’re the person who makes me remember that not everyone is terrible. That there’s still good in the world. I thought about the ring in my closet, about the proposal I’d planned, about the text I’d sent 3 hours ago telling her never to come back. I almost lost you, I whispered. We almost lost each other, she corrected. I stood up, walked to the couch, and picked up Ryan’s phone. Marcus has been texting him all morning. What do we do?

Olivia took Ryan’s phone and read through the messages, her face getting harder with each line. Marcus thinks my cover is blown, which it is, but he doesn’t know how much evidence I actually have. What evidence? She pulled out a different phone from her jacket pocket. Not the iPhone she usually carried, but an Android with a cracked screen. She opened it and showed me photos of Marcus meeting with various people, video recordings of conversations, screenshots of bank transfers, 6 weeks of surveillance.

Marcus has scammed 14 women out of a total of $340,000.

I have documentation on every transaction, every lie he told, every fake profile he created. So, we turned this over to the police. Not yet. She scrolled through more photos. Marcus keeps the money in cash, moves it around constantly. If we tip the police now, he’ll run. He’ll take the money with him and disappear. Those 14 women will never see justice. Never get their money back.

Then what? She looked at Ryan’s phone again. Marcus is expecting Ryan to report back to tell him whether you know anything, whether I’m really an investigator or just paranoid. What if Ryan tells him the wrong thing? Ryan’s not going to help us. He’s too deep with Marcus. I know, Olivia said. That’s why you’re going to pretend to be Ryan. She typed a message from Ryan’s phone. She doesn’t know anything. Her boyfriend is clueless. They broke up over it. You’re clear. She showed it to me before sending. What does that accomplish?

Marcus is meeting with his money partner tomorrow night to split the cash and close up shop. He’s getting nervous.

Wants to liquidate everything and disappear. But he’ll only do the exchange if he thinks he’s safe. If he thinks I’m not a threat anymore, you want to catch him at the exchange. With video evidence and police present, yes, but he has to believe he’s safe first.

She hit send on the message. Within seconds, Marcus replied, “Good. Keep me updated if anything changes.” And Ryan, you still owe me. Don’t forget. I stared at the message. This is insane. I know.

He could have killed you this morning, but he didn’t. She looked at me with those dark eyes that had made me fall in love with her in a coffee shop 8 months ago. Will you help me finish this? I thought about the 14 women who’d lost everything. I thought about my mother who’d been manipulated by Uncle Jim and left with nothing. I thought about trust, about lies, about the difference between the two. What do you need me to do? She scrolled to a photo on her phone. Marcus is meeting his partner tomorrow at 8:00 p.m. I need to know where. And I need She stopped. Her face went white. “What?” She showed me the photo. Marcus standing next to another man, older, gray hair, expensive suit.

My breath caught in my throat. “That’s my uncle,” I whispered. “That’s Uncle Jim.” “You know him?” Olivia’s voice was sharp. Investigator mode fully activated. “That’s James Holloway.” “My uncle?” “Well, not really my uncle, but that’s what we called him. He was my dad’s business partner before.” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Olivia pulled up another photo, zoomed in on the man’s face. James Holloway, 52, record of embezzlement, fraud, identity theft. He served 3 years in 2015. Got out on parole and disappeared. She looked at me. How do you know him? The memory came back unwanted, sharp as broken glass. When I was eight, my mom had an affair with him. With Uncle Jim.

He worked with my dad, came to our house for dinners, called me little Andy, and brought me toys. My voice sounded hollow even to myself. He convinced my mom to empty my dad’s bank accounts. They took everything, savings, retirement, the money my dad had set aside for my college. They ran away together. Andrew, she came back 6 months later. Showed up at our door broke and alone. Jim had left her too, taken all the money and vanished. But my dad wouldn’t take her back. Couldn’t. He’d lost everything.

His money, his wife, his best friend. He started drinking. told me over and over, “People who lie don’t get second chances.” “What happened to your mother?” She died two years later. Car accident. She was drunk. I’d never said it out loud before. I was 10 years old at her funeral, and all I could think was that Uncle Jim killed her. Not with his hands, but he killed her anyway.

Olivia was crying. I’d never seen her cry before. “Why are you crying?” “Because I know what it’s like to lose someone to a monster.” She pulled out her phone, showed me a photo I’d never seen. A woman who looked just like Olivia, but older, softer, with the same dark eyes. This is my sister. Emma was my sister. 5 years ago, her boyfriend was cheating on her. She found evidence, confronted him with it. He killed her.

Made it looked like a robbery, but I knew. The police knew, too, but they couldn’t prove it. No one had documented his affair, his lies. There was no clear motive. He walked free on reasonable doubt. Jesus Olivia. I quit my corporate job the day his trial ended. I was working in marketing, making good money, had a nice apartment. None of it mattered anymore. I spent 2 years learning investigation techniques, studying law, getting licensed, and then I started taking cases. Her voice was fierce, now angry. Every cheater I catch, every scammer I expose, I think about Emma. I think about how she’d still be alive if someone had documented what he was doing. if someone had caught him before he got desperate. She showed me more photos on her phone. The women Marcus had scammed. Sarah, 34, lost $85,000.

Jennifer, 41, lost her house. Michelle, 29, tried to kill herself when she realized it was all fake. These aren’t just victims, Andrew. They’re someone’s sister, someone’s daughter. They trusted him and he destroyed them for money. I pulled her close. I’m so sorry about Emma. I can’t quit, she whispered into my shoulder. Even when it costs me everything. Even when it cost me almost losing you because if I stop more Ems die, more Sarah’s lose everything. And monsters like Marcus and your uncle Jim keep winning. We sat there for a long time holding each other, carrying the weight of our dead together. Finally, I said, “Then we finish this together. For Emma, for my mom, for every person they’ve hurt.” She pulled back, wiped her eyes. Your uncle is Marcus’ money partner. That changes things. How? It means this is personal for you too now.

It means her phone bust. The real one.

She looked at it and her face went pale.

Andrew, check your messages. I pulled out my phone. There was a text from an unknown number. Timestamp 2 minutes ago.

I know you have Ryan’s phone. Bring it to the warehouse at 455 Industrial Drive tonight at 11 p.m. Come along. If I see cops, if I see that investigator Olivia dies, you have 8 hours. Olivia stared at the threat on my phone. He knows. Marcus knows Ryan left his phone here. How? Then I realized Ryan. He must have gone back to Marcus, told him what happened or Marcus forced it out of him.

She was already on her feet pacing, thinking, “This is bad. If we don’t show up, he’ll assume we went to the police.

If we do show up, it’s a trap. We call your team.” I said, “You’re firm, your supervisor. We tell them everything and let them handle it.” She was already dialing. The conversation was short, tense. When she hung up, she looked relieved. They’re mobilizing. My supervisor is contacting the NYPD, setting up a tactical response. They’ll be positioned around the warehouse. So, we don’t go. We have to go. If Marcus doesn’t see us, he’ll run. We need him to think he has the upper hand until the police move in. I looked at the time.

2:47 p.m. 8 hours and 13 minutes until 11 p.m. There’s something I need to tell you, I said. About this morning. What about it? I pulled up our text thread, showed her the message I’d sent. Stay with him. Don’t come back home. Her face crumpled when she read it. I know, she said quietly. That’s what I woke up to.

That’s why I came here. Why I had to explain even though I was supposed to maintain cover. But there’s more. I scrolled up, showing her the empty space where her response should have been. You sent another message, didn’t you? Right after you saw mine. How did you know?

Because I know you. What did it say? She pulled out her phone, showed me her sent messages. There it was. Timestamp 7:03 a.m. Please, Andrew, I can explain everything when I see you. It’s not what you think. I love you. Just give me until tonight. I never got that message.

What? She looked at my phone, confused, but it says it delivered. I went into my settings, the place I hadn’t looked in a year. There it was. Autoblock numbers after confrontational messages. The feature I’d installed after Sarah, the one that automatically blocked anyone I sent certain phrases to. Words like stay away or don’t come back, triggered it. I set this up after my ex. I said if I send a message ending things, it automatically blocks that number so I don’t get pulled back into toxic relationships. I forgot I even had it enabled. Olivia stared at the setting.

So you never saw that I tried to explain. You never knew I was coming here to tell you the truth. And you never knew that I wanted to hear it.

That I was sitting here all morning destroying myself over what I’d said.

She laughed but it was broken. Sad. We almost lost each other over a phone setting. No. I took her hands. We almost lost each other because I didn’t trust you. Because the moment things got hard, I assumed the worst. That’s on me, not on technology. You had reasons not to trust easily. That doesn’t make it right. I pulled her close. I’m sorry for not answering your calls last night. For the text this morning, for not giving you a chance to explain. I’m sorry, too, for lying about my job. For putting you in danger, for my phone bust, we both jumped. Another text from the unknown number. 7 hours and 52 minutes. Andrew, don’t be late. and tell Olivia I’m looking forward to seeing her again.

Night had fallen by the time we pulled up to 455 Industrial Drive. The warehouse loomed against the dark sky, most of its windows broken, graffiti covering the lower walls. Olivia’s team was positioned in three unmarked vans two blocks away. NYPD Tactical was another block beyond that. We could see them on the tracking app Olivia had on her phone, tiny dots surrounding the building. They’re 2 minutes out if things go bad, Olivia said. She was wearing a wire, a tiny microphone clipped inside her collar. We go in. We keep them talking until NYPD has probable cause to enter. That’s it. And if they try to hurt us before that, she pulled out a canister from her pocket.

Pepper spray. And I have a black belt and crav mega. We’ll be okay. We got out of the car. My hands were shaking. I shoved them in my pocket so she wouldn’t see, but she saw anyway. She always saw everything. Hey, she said, taking my hand. We’re going to be fine. In 2 hours, this is all over. We walked to the warehouse entrance. The door was propped open, dim light coming from inside. We stepped through and my eyes adjusted to see Marcus standing in the center of the space, arms crossed. Ryan was there, too, sitting in a metal chair, hands zip tied behind his back.

And next to Marcus, looking exactly like he had in my nightmares for 20 years, was Uncle Jim. Andrew Chin, Marcus said.

Ryan’s told me so much about you. I held up Ryan’s phone. You wanted this? I wanted to make sure you understood the situation. Marcus gestured to Ryan. Your friend here has been very cooperative.

Told me all about your little investigation, Olivia. Or should I call you investigator Chin? Olivia stepped forward. Marcus Weber. James Holloway.

You’re both under under arrest. Marcus laughed. You’re not a cop. You can’t arrest anyone. Uncle Jim moved into the light. His hair was grayer than I remembered, his face harder, but it was definitely him. He recognized me. Little Andy? Is that really you? My voice came out steady despite the rage building in my chest. I’m not little anymore. No, I suppose you’re not. He walked closer.

You look like your father. Same weak chin, same pathetic eyes. Tell me, is he still drinking himself to death or did he finally finish the job? My father died 3 years ago. Cerosis. Jim smiled.