Another realization is that as strange as the number is, it also could present a problem—it’s too big to just walk into a bank and withdraw. Aren’t there waiting periods for that kind of cash? Precious minutes to wait out the red tape.

And his investment strategy these past few years has been aggressive. Expanding his business, turning every bit of profit into capital for the next location. What if he doesn’t have enough money liquid? Cam might have to gather up cash from different accounts, liquidate some of his assets. He might not have enough time.

Or maybe that’s the whole purpose.

Terror churns in my stomach because maybe this is no typical ransom plot. Maybe this man’s promises of a happy reunion is a lie. Maybe no matter what kind of miracle Cam works, the day culminates with a bullet in each of our heads.

If that’s true, if this whole exercise was intended to fail, then that means nothing I do, nothing Cam does, will change how this day ends. As much as I want him to hurry, every minute he’s not here means another minute the kids and I are still breathing.

Another minute I have to figure out how to get us out of this alive.

“Where are you?” I say. “How long before you can get here?”

“I don’t... I don’t know. It’s going to take me some time to pull that kind of cash together. I’m going to have to empty the safes, move some things around between accounts, and the banks close in what—an hour? It would be a lot quicker to just transfer the money, all I need is a—”

“No.” Another one of the scenarios the man and I discussed, and he was crystal clear. “No bank transfers. It has to be cash, and you have to bring it by seven. He says one second later than that and we’re dead.”

“Seven o’clock tonight?” Cam’s voice cracks through the speaker, incredulous. “I don’t... That doesn’t give me anywhere near enough time.”

“Yes. He was very specific about the time.” I don’t mention that the man smiled when he said it: Tell your darling husband seven o’clock or else. Almost like a dare.

In the background, squealing wheels pierce through the roar of an engine. “Look, sir, whoever you are, listen to me. I will get you this money, but you have to understand there are forces out of my control. It’s rush hour. Traffic is a nightmare, and the banks are going to take forever. I can probably stitch together a couple hundred thousand today, and then tomorrow morning first thing I’ll get you the rest. I swear to you I’ll pull through, but I just don’t—”