Page 137 of Tangled In Tinsel & Knots
“What the hell was that?” We sprint inside, moving through the house, following the noise to another room on the opposite side from where we entered.
I push down the handle, and the door swings open.
Corn Dog proudly stands in the room in the shattered remains of what used to be a filing cabinet, surrounded by debris.
“What in the world?” I mutter.
It looks like he chewed enthusiastically on electrical wires hanging from a destroyed breaker panel mounted on the wall. Half the panel is torn completely open, sparking components exposed and dead, explaining why the whole property has no power.
Papers are scattered everywhere, the same ones he’s been shredding with his teeth. And in his mouth right now is a thick ledger book, pages torn and soaked with reindeer saliva.
“Oh God,” Kane groans.
“Fucking hero,” I add, starting to laugh softly despite everything—the pain in my ribs, the blood on my face, the absolute insanity of this situation.
Kane lunges forward and snatches the ledger from Corn Dog’s mouth. Pages fall open as Kane holds it, and we both lean in to read it.
Neat columns of numbers. Names, some I recognize as the criminals we just encountered, others I don’t. Payment schedules with dates and amounts.
Professional. Detailed. Meticulous.
Corn Dog is at my side, and I pat him. “Good boy, destroying their power.” I lift my gaze. “What the fuck’s going on here?”
Kane gives me the book as he goes to haul open drawers and cupboards in the room now, his movements frantic. There are stacks of cash wrapped in paper bands. Hundred-dollar bills, some still in bank wrappers.
“This is easily seven figures just sitting here,” Kane states, his voice tight. “Maybe more. Who keeps this much cash on hand?”
“Someone running a serious criminal enterprise. Money laundering fits the bill. Pun intended.” I grin.
“You think that’s what’s going on here?” Kane asks. “Using these criminals he’s hiding. Laundering massive amounts of money through them, making them look like legitimate workers with paychecks. So that book is a complete money-laundering ledger. Fuck!”
“If this is Scot’s doing, he wasn’t just sabotaging Hannah’s events for petty revenge,” I whisper, understanding crystallizing. “Scot was sabotaging everything for money.”
Footsteps sound somewhere in the house. Our heads snap up simultaneously to the door. Before we can move, the door swings open. And fucking Scot steps into the doorway, flanked by two more guards with guns already drawn and pointed directly at us.
Of course he’s in charge. Fuck!
For a frozen moment, nobody moves. Scot’s eyes are taking in the scene, Corn Dog standing by the destroyed electrical panel, the ledger in my hand, the cash visible in open drawers.
His face twists into fury. “You two sons of bitches just can’t mind your own goddamn business, can you?” His voice is venomous, dripping with hatred. “Had to stick your noses where they don’t belong. Had to play hero for that ungrateful bitch.”
The guards’ guns are steady, professional grips, fingers on triggers. These aren’t amateurs.
We’re outgunned and we know it.
“On the floor. Now!” one guard orders.
Kane and I exchange a glance. We could try to fight, but one of us, if not both, will get shot before we reach them.
We get to our knees.
“Smart choice,” Scot says, stepping into the room properly while his guards pat us down and take our phones, blades, and Tasers. “I’d hate to get blood all over my half-destroyed ledger there. That’s important documentation.” He comes over and snatches it from my grasp. “Fucking reindeer wrecked this room.”
I grin, adoring Corn Dog for being such a devious little reindeer.
“You’re running a criminal network,” Kane states flatly, not making it a question. “Using fugitives as your personal army. Keeping them hidden from law enforcement in exchange for their loyalty and labor.”
Scot smiles, and it’s ugly. “Someone’s been doing their homework. Not that it matters anymore. You won’t be sharing your discoveries with anyone.”
