Chapter 3The Phantom Payroll Murder Plot

I slipped into a bathroom stall, pulled out my actual phone, and scrolled down to my cousin’s number.

Roxy was a grifter. She’d spent her twenties running minor scams and bouncing between shady dive bars. More importantly, she was currently drowning in debt to a local bookie and was infinitely more desperate than I was.

The phone rang for an eternity before she picked up.

"Who died at three in the morning?" she rasped, her voice thick with sleep and cigarettes.

I kept my voice to a breathless whisper, outlining the entire insane plot in under sixty seconds.

"Rox, listen to me. You come down here, play the devastated blue-collar wife, and demand five hundred grand in cash to keep your mouth shut. When it’s done, you walk away with a hundred and fifty grand."

Dead silence on the line. Just the sound of her heavy breathing.

"Harper, you've lost your mind," she finally whispered, her voice trembling. "That's a dead body. If we get caught, that's federal wire fraud, extortion, maybe accessory to murder. We'll rot in prison."

"Do you have the money for your bookie, Rox? Because last I checked, they were threatening to break your kneecaps," I hissed, the adrenaline making me ruthless. "The factory owner is more terrified of the cops than we are. He's not going to dig. You cry, you sign, you take the bag, and you vanish. Who's gonna stop you?"

Silence. Thick, suffocating silence.

Then, a sharp exhale.

"I'm in. Text me the dead guy's stats. I'm on my way."

I hung up. The back of my blouse was drenched in cold sweat. I splashed freezing water on my face, slapped my cheeks until the color returned, and marched back upstairs.

"Mr. Walsh, I got her," I said, stepping back into his office. "His wife lives out in the county. I just got off the phone with her. She's hysterical, but she's driving down now. Should be here by seven."

Gary collapsed into his leather chair, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Good. Good. Intercept her at the gate. Bring her straight to the ground-floor conference room. Keep her the hell away from the production floor."

Monica shot me a venomous look from the sofa. "Wow. Look at you, employee of the month. So efficient."

I didn't flinch. "A man is dead, Monica. Forgive me for acting fast. If you think you can handle a grieving widow better, be my guest."

She scoffed and looked away.