Page 30 of Daddy's Christmas Rescue
“There’s more.” She rattled it off like someone reading a checklist they wish they didn’t have: “Bank transfers. Offshore shell companies. Two dozen cleared wires in and out of Clearwater accounts over the last three years to a set of Cayman-based corporations tied to a company registered in Vincent Hale’s name. That alone is suspicious, Weston, but it’s the tie to policy denials that’s the killer.”
“What tie?” My voice was only half there.
“I pulled the internal claims log,” she said. “There’s an audit trail—timestamps, user IDs, the approval chain. Holly’s signature is on some of the authorization stamps, yes, but the emails show she was copied in after the decision was made. There are directives from the accounts office from an internal address tied to Vincent, to flag certain claims and mark them ‘exceptions’ with bogus reasons. Weston Construction’s denial is in there. My god, they’ve been deliberately denying payouts and funneling money into those shells.”
I could feel the old hurt from my mother’s kitchen like a hand around my throat. “So what do we actually have?”
Cas was faster now, precise. “I’ve got bank records, SWIFT traces, internal Clearwater emails, and a signed invoice trail that shows transfers to a shell company that then paid personal expenses including high-end furniture, private jet charters, luxury vehicles, all tied back to accounts that match Vincent’sknown associates. I also grabbed a recording—not great quality, but it’s clear. It’s Vincent on a call telling an operations manager to ‘use Holly’s authorization where needed.’ He names dates, policy numbers.”
“Names and dates,” I echoed. “That’s…that’s the smoking gun.”
“It’s more than that,” Cas said. “This crosses state lines. Interstate fraud is federal. We can give this to a federal prosecutor if we're not confident with the locals, and they’ll open a criminal inquiry. We can also hand everything to the State Insurance Commissioner. Once those agencies get their claws in, they can freeze assets, place emergency conservatorship on Clearwater, and subpoena accounts. It will take the company off-line and cut whatever gravy train is feeding them.”
“And you think they’ll cave?” I asked.
“They’ll have to,” she said simply. “Their entire cash flow depends on those skims. If they think the feds are a minute away from freezing accounts and dragging company execs into grand jury rooms, they’ll panic. People who‘ve been living off dirty money don’t like lights. They’ll do anything to keep it off, but that means one of two things.” She hesitated. “You need the Feds or cops you can trust to go in and get Holly. if they think their world is crumbling there’s a good chance she’ll get hurt to shut her up.”
For a second, the world just…tilted. The edges went white around my vision.
Cas’s voice came through, low but steady. “I’m sending you the footage and his plate. I can flag his accounts, maybe get a trace on his phone, but if he’s got her, he won’t use it. You need to be careful. This guy doesn’t bluff. He’s old-school and manipulative, patient, violent when cornered.”
I was already moving—turning the truck around, gravel spitting under the tires. Biscuit barked once, sharp and urgent.
“Careful’s not on the table,” I said.
“Blake—”
“She’s got no one else,” I snapped. “Her parents handed her over. The cops won’t help, they’ll send her right back. So don’t tell me to stand down.”
There was silence on the line. Then, quietly: “Then you need help.” The call ended, but Cas’s last words hung there, heavy as the snow beginning to fall.
I knew exactly where to find my crew. Their wives were off somewhere drinking mimosas after last-minute shopping, and the guys always ended up at Rafe’s place until pickup duty rolled around. When I walked in, Rafe was at the coffeemaker while Mason, Duke, and Tyler were arguing over hockey highlights like the world wasn’t about to tilt sideways.
“Need a favor,” I said.
That ended the noise in an instant.
These were the same men who’d followed me into burning buildings, collapsing roofs, and once into a frozen river when the crane went sideways. I didn’t ask for help unless it mattered.
Mason was the first to speak. “This about the girl?”
Rafe’s head snapped up. “What girl?”
“The one from the warehouse,” Mason said. “Everyone’s been talking.”
I exhaled slowly, then nodded. “Her name’s Holly. She’s been staying with me. She’s in trouble—serious trouble. Her family’s dirty, and they’re trying to force her into marrying some bastard named Vincent.”
Duke muttered a curse, low and angry. Rafe didn’t blink. “So what’s the plan?”
“Getting her out,” I said. “She’s back home, but not by choice. No one gets hurt unless they start it. I just need her safe.”
Rafe’s mouth tightened, and he gave a single nod. “Then let’s move.”
The drive to the Turner place was a blur of headlights, snow, and anger. Biscuit whined in the back seat every time I slowed down, like even he knew what was waiting for us. Rafe sat beside me, silent but steady, and we didn’t need words. Rafe had worked for my dad as an apprentice. We'd grown into the business together and I would trust this guy with my life. Was trusting him with my life, because if we didn't get Holly back, my life would be over.
The Turners’ house was textbook privilege—white pillars, a wreath on the door perfect enough for a magazine cover, and not a single flake of snow left on the driveway. The black sedan Cas had told me about sat out front, frost already creeping over the windows. The whole place looked staged, spotless, and cold.
I didn’t think. I marched straight up the steps with the guys behind me and pounded on the door hard enough to make the glass rattle.
