“In 2005,” Michael began without looking up, “a coworker asked me for a favor. Just a favor. He needed me to adjust some numbers in the company books. He said it was temporary—just hiding a transaction for a few weeks until a cash flow issue was resolved.”
He offered money—not much, the equivalent of a few hundred dollars.
Michael needed it: the house, the bills, the kids.
He said yes.
Rachel felt nausea rising—she already knew where it was going.
Ethan clenched his fists.
“But it wasn’t once,” Michael continued. “My coworker worked for dangerous people. The company was a front for laundering cartel money.”
When Michael realized what he was involved in, it was too late.
“They told me if I talked, if I tried to stop, they would kill my family. Not just me—you, Rachel. Ethan. Lucas.”
They showed him photos of the kids walking into school.
They told him they knew where they lived, where Rachel worked, and that if he didn’t cooperate, they would start with the children.
“Oh my God,” Rachel whispered.