Burn Up (Steel Veins Book 2) by Jackson Kane

Author:Jackson Kane [Kane, Jackson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781925853797
Publisher: Hot Tree Publishing
Published: 2019-11-29T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Maya

My resolve wavered as we rode into the gated compound of closed, nondescript warehouses of Batesville Casket Company. It was dusk, and it’d been several hours since Robbie was murdered. It made my heart ache seeing him gunned down so horribly. I didn’t know my uncle all that well, but he seemed like a decent man making the best out of some bad situations. I wish I could’ve had the chance to get to know him better. I still had so many questions that I’d never have answered.

The hard reality sank into my bones. How was I going to get into that safe-deposit box now? I’d spent ten long years endlessly datamining to prove that she wasn’t living on some Polynesian isle, sipping tiki cocktails by an infinity pool but never had enough for her to be declared legally dead. Mom left without her phone, passport, or even her purse. It was insultingly obvious for anyone who knew her personally, but the courts didn’t care about that. Because of the right of marriage, only my father—her murderer—could have her declared legally dead, but he’d never allow that kind of closure. It was his way of diverting attention away from the possibility of foul play being the reason for her disappearance—it was all her fault, not his—while maintaining the air of a heartbroken husband to the authorities and the public at large.

Fucking bastard.

As infuriating as it was, I had become numb to Slick’s brand of social manipulation. Growing up, I had heard him say countless times that she was a selfish, heartless bitch and had run away, leaving behind two needy children who sorely needed a nurturing mother. The obvious lie used to churn my stomach, but now the memory of his claims only widened the chasm of hate I already had for him in the pit of my soul.

So going through Mom to get into the box wouldn’t work.

As for Uncle Robbie, the shortest it would take was a month for a death certificate to become available, but only his heir could get that. Unless I could dig up his last will and testament—something he probably didn’t even have—saying something else, right now that heir would be Slick again. Long before I could even get any kind of process started, the bank would’ve closed and none of it would matter.

I only had one option now, and to say it was a long shot was being extremely generous. I’d have to basically throw myself upon the mercy of the bank officers, begging on behalf of my missing mother to recover her property. If they let me use their computer or even one of their phones, I could show them the archives of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch for the specific articles documenting her disappearance. Hell, I’d even show them my own research by logging into my personal subscription account.

But all they’d have to do is say no, and I’d be fucked.

All that, of course, assumed I made it out of wherever I was headed to alive, which I wasn’t too optimistic about.

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