Page 133 of Threaded Lies

“Agreed. I’ve vouched for you, Simpson. Time and again. And for some reason you can’t seem to stay away from these kids or out of trouble. Is it jealousy? Is it that you can’t let go what they have and you don’t? What is it, because if this is how you repay me for having your back, that’s more than fucked.”

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it,” I say resolutely. “I told you who did it.”

“Well, they’re saying you did.”

“And their word is stronger than mine.”

He leans back in his chair and sighs. “They want an apology and the club wants the money returned.”

I snort. “For something I didn’t do.” I turn to pace the room. “This is ridiculous. Fucking ridiculous. To think you believe them over me because I come from Fairmont and they’re from here is absolutely fucking—”

“Your mom cleans over at the Rivercrest Office Park, no?” a voice at my back asks. I spin around to face Chief Williams, Chad’s dad, standing there in his tan uniform with the huge-ass gold star pinned to his chest.

Panic doesn’t just flicker, it explodes into an all-out assault on my system. Why is he here?

“Sir?” I ask as he runs his fingers absently over the handcuffs hooked on his utility belt. Subtle threat more than noticed.

“Your mom? She works over at the diner and then cleans at Rivercrest after hours, no?” He moves into the doorway, his shoulders spanning from one side to the other.

“Why? What does she have to do with any of this?” I ask cautiously as fear snakes up my spine.

“Because it would be a travesty for her to lose her job there. I mean, if her son’s a thief then he had to learn it from somewhere, right? And apparently a few things have gone missing at the office complex here and there over the past few months. It’s a logical conclusion to draw.”

I stare at him, jaw lax, heart racing, and tongue thick in my mouth. “I didn’t steal the money. And my mom didn’t take anything either. I’m not—she’s not like that—”

“I have three boys who say otherwise.” He lifts his eyebrows. “Three against one. That’s pretty convincing in the eyes of the law.”

“But I didn’t—”

“So here’s what you’re going to do, Sampson,” he says.

Sampson.

I stare at him, blinking. He doesn’t even know who I am. He hasn’t even made the connection. That’s how insignificant Mason’s life was to him, the life his son took, that he doesn’t even know our last name or the connection to me or to my mom.

Because if he did, he’d say something, right?

“You’re going to stop threatening and accusing the boys of stealing the money you took. Folks around here don’t look too kindly to defamation. Then you’re going to repay all the money stolen, which we have figured is about five hundred and eighteen dollars.”

“What?” I shriek. “I don’t have that kind of money. I don’t—”

“And then you’re going to write a written apology to the club members for trying to take advantage of them and their wealth so you could go buy some drugs or whatever it is you bought. So yes, they’ll know who you are. And yes, they’ll be aware there is a thief in their midst.”

“Sir. I don’t have any money. I don’t have—”

“Know your place in this society, Sampson, or it won’t end well for you and your family.” He hooks his thumbs in his belt. “You’ll do all of this or else both you and your mom will lose your jobs. The easiest way to get rid of trash is to make it so they can’t afford to take up space.” His smile is smug as fuck. “Understood?”

I stare at the prick, unwilling to agree but refusing to risk everything we’ve worked for.

“The answer is yes, son. That’s the only one there is to give.” He looks over my shoulder at Gary and nods. “I’m trusting you to make sure matters are cleaned up.” He takes a step back. “Or the trash gets taken out.”

And then he walks off, the unique sound of all his gear on his belt moving with each step filtering back through the hallway to where I stand, staring after him.

I turn to look at Gary.

“I’m sorry, man. My hands are tied.”

“Better tied than in handcuffs.”