Still, I imagine Jade, sleeping on that blue chair with a gun pointed at her head, sharing fifteen extra hours of oxygen with a psycho kidnapper. One wrong move, one moment of impatience and his trigger finger could get twitchy. The kids would be witnesses, so they’d die, too. Boom boom boom. My whole family, lying in a sticky pool of their own blood. Wiped out in an instant because I couldn’t come up with the ransom.

Which means there’s only one answer, only one possible recourse: get the money and bring it to the house by seven. It’s the only way to keep Jade and the kids alive. Failure is not an option.

And then I remember the fire.

The one that licked my Bolling Way kitchen to death and took out my best source of income. The one that sparked in an outlet next to the cooking oil, exploding into a fireball when it hit the ceiling’s flammable noise panels.

Now it’s like pulling a crumpled lottery ticket from your pocket and seeing the winning numbers, like ripping open the candy bar to uncover the golden ticket. All this time, I’ve been sitting on a pot of money I didn’t even think about. A flicker of hope sparks in my chest, and my lungs swell with gulped air. I yank on the wheel and swerve onto the dirt shoulder, tires kicking up rocks and garbage as the truck skids to a sloppy stop.

Flavio picks up on the first ring. “Finally. I’ve been leaving you messages all afternoon. Where are you?”

I look around, blinking through my windshield at the run-down terrain. Boarded-up buildings and chop shops behind chain-link fences, an occasional fast-food joint—the cheap and dirty kind. Scaryville, as Jade would call this place. Bankhead, I’m guessing.

“Running a couple of errands. What’s the word from the insurance adjustor?”

There are still all sorts of obstacles, I know, but if I could somehow manage to get my hands on a check, I could take it to one of those check-cashing places—Western Union or one of the sketchy ones that stay open late for suckers like me, desperate people willing to pay an obscene rate for quick cash. But even then, even if I had to forfeit what? Ten percent? Twenty? The payout will still be more than what I need. I’d walk away with plenty of cash for Jade and the kids.

“That’s what I’ve been calling you about,” Flavio says. “He wants to know about the building on Pharr.”

I frown. “What about it?”

“Actually, he’s standing right here. Why don’t I let you talk to him.” Not so much a question as it is a statement, and one that ticks a warning beat in my chest.