Chapter 7 - The Trap at Tybee IslandZ
The rain began falling over Tybee Island at dusk, turning the narrow dirt roads near the salt marshes into thick, black mud. High tall grass whipped wildly in the Atlantic wind, framing a dilapidated wooden boat house that leaned precariously over the dark water.
Inside the rusted shed, lit only by the pale screen of a cheap prepaid smartphone, Spencer sat on an overturned plastic crate. He was shivering, wrapped in a damp blanket, staring at a viral video playing on his screen.
It was the video of Abigail’s press conference outside the courthouse. Over two million views in three hours. The comment sections were filled with thousands of people praising his mother’s strength and condemning him as a narcissistic monster.
"You miserable, cold-hearted old bitch!" Spencer screamed, hurling the phone against the wooden wall. The screen cracked, but the audio continued to play dimly from the floor: "...The free rides are over..."
Spencer buried his head in his hands, tearing at his messy hair. He was completely out of options. His body ached from his unfinished medical treatment, his pockets contained less than eighty dollars in cash, and every police officer in Chatham County was actively hunting his silver truck.
Suddenly, the wooden door of the boat house creaked open.
Spencer jumped up in terror, grabbing a rusty crowbar from the floor. "Who's there?! Stay back! I have a weapon!"
A tall figure stepped out of the rainy darkness, shaking off a wet raincoat. It wasn't a police officer. It was Garrick Vance’s former chief enforcer—a man named Silas, whom Spencer had worked with during the real estate fraud scheme.
"Put the crowbar down, Spencer," Silas said, his voice rough and dismissive. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have heard me open the door."
Spencer dropped the crowbar, gasping for breath. "Silas! Did Garrick send you? Please, tell Garrick I can get the money! I just need time! My mom... she set up a trust, but there has to be a legal way to contest it!"
Silas let out a dry, cruel laugh as he stepped deeper into the shed. "Garrick is gone, Spencer. He fled to Costa Rica yesterday afternoon after your mother threatened to throw him into a federal prison. She destroyed his entire operation in twenty minutes."
Spencer stared in disbelief. "Garrick... ran away?"
"Garrick ran away," Silas confirmed, pulling a heavy silver revolver from his jacket pocket and casually checking the cylinder. "But I didn't. You see, Spencer, when Garrick fled, he left behind a lot of unpaid bills. Including two hundred thousand dollars he owed me and my crew for security work. And since you're the one who got us into this mess with your fake property deeds, I figure your family owes me."
Spencer backed away until his shoulders hit the wall, terror knotting his stomach. "I don't have any money, Silas! You saw her press conference! She locked everything in a trust! I don't have a cent!"
"You don't have money," Silas agreed, leveling the revolver directly at Spencer’s chest. "But you have leverage. Your mother made a big show on TV about how she doesn't care about you anymore. But I know mothers, Spencer. When push comes to shove, no mother wants to receive her only child’s fingers in a mail envelope."
Spencer’s eyes widened in horror. "No... no, please! She won't pay! I'm telling you, she won't pay!"
"She'll pay for your life," Silas said coldly, pulling out a secondary phone and tossing it onto the crate next to Spencer. "Pick it up. Call her. Tell her if she doesn't bring five hundred thousand dollars in cash to the abandoned fish processing plant on the north marsh by midnight tonight, I execute you on live video and send it to every news station in Georgia."
Spencer snatched the phone with slick, trembling hands. He didn't hesitate for a single second. The thought of his mother’s heartbreak, her pain, or her safety didn't cross his mind. His only thought was his own skin.
He dialed Abigail’s direct line.
In her hotel suite in Savannah, Abigail was sitting with Lawson and Naomi, reviewing the final legal paperwork for the pinecrest trust, when her phone rang. It was an unlisted Tybee Island area code.
Abigail motioned for Lawson to hit the record button on her secondary device before she pressed speaker.
"Hello?" Abigail said calmly.
"Mom! Mom, help me!" Spencer’s hysterical voice screamed through the speaker, accompanied by the sound of pouring rain in the background. "They're going to kill me, Mom! Silas has a gun to my head! He's going to shoot me!"
Abigail’s expression didn't change. Her heart didn't leap into her throat as it once would have. She simply leaned closer to the phone. "Spencer. Stop screaming and put Silas on the line."
On the other end, Silas took the phone from Spencer’s trembling hand. "Mrs. Riley. I take it you know who I am."
"I know who you are, Silas," Abigail said, her voice dropping into that chilling, unshakeable tone that had terrified Garrick Vance. "You're a low-level thug left behind by a man who was smart enough to run away from me."
Silas chuckled sinisterly. "Big talk for a woman whose son is on his knees in front of a loaded forty-four. Here are the rules, old lady. Five hundred thousand dollars in unmarked hundred-dollar bills. Delivered to the old fish processing plant on North Marsh Road by midnight. No cops, no private guards, no lawyers. You bring the cash alone, or your son’s body goes into the marsh for the crabs."
"Five hundred thousand," Abigail repeated slowly. "That's a lot of cash to get on short notice."
"You have twelve million in the bank, Mrs. Riley. Figure it out by midnight, or watch your son die on your smartphone." Silas slammed the phone shut, ending the call.
In the hotel suite, Lawson immediately stood up, grabbing his coat. "I'm calling the FBI Hostage Rescue Team and the Georgia State Patrol right now. This is a federal kidnapping and extortion felony."
"Wait, Lawson," Abigail commanded sharply.
Lawson froze. "Abigail, we can't let a violent felon execute him!"
Abigail stood up, looking at the satellite map of Tybee Island displayed on Evelyn’s tablet. "Silas thinks he’s setting a trap for a desperate mother," she said, a small, dark smile touching her lips. "He thinks I am going to panic, run to a bank, and walk into an abandoned warehouse with a bag of cash."
She looked at Evelyn Cross. "Evelyn, how long would it take your tactical team to reach the North Marsh fish plant?"
"My team is stationed ten minutes away on Tybee Island," Evelyn said, her eyes flashing with professional appreciation. "We can have snipers positioned on the marsh ridge by eleven-fifteen PM."
"Good," Abigail said, her voice dropping into absolute ice. "Lawson, do not call the local police yet. They'll show up with sirens flashing and panic Silas into shooting. We are going to give Silas exactly what he asked for—a meeting at midnight. But instead of five hundred thousand dollars in cash, he's going to get a lesson in modern security."
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"What are you going to do, Abigail?" Naomi asked, her voice trembling with concern.
Abigail looked out the window at the storm rolling in from the coast. "I am going to Tybee Island. I am going to look my son in the eye one last time while his sins are finally brought to justice."
