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“Dad? Holy shit! No, no, I don’t have any offshore accounts. And neither does he. Definitely not the illegal kind in the Virgin flipping Islands.” It whips out of her so fast she shakes. “I have one bank account back in California. I’ve had it since I was sixteen. That’s the only account I’ve ever had.”
“Dammit, Faulk,” I shout, my fists darting up. “You can’t possibly believe this horseshit and neither should the FBI.”
“I don’t, but that ain’t how the system works, Grady. We’re gonna have to prove Willow and her daddy are clean before the FBI formally takes over this case and opens a can of worms.”
“How?” Willow asks. “How can I prove something I don’t know anything about?”
“To start, we’ve gotta show it’s a case of stolen identity,” Faulk says with a shrug. Like it’s that damn simple. “Pretty easy for them to do, setting you up, considering they had everything they’d need from your employment records. The rest, they must’ve pulled down from black-market sources.”
Willow stands, hands pressed to her forehead like she’s about to fall over.
“God. How could I have been so stupid? I knew something wasn’t right about that place from day one. All the crap they put my name on, the records they wanted for background checks...but I was too scared of losing my job to say anything. Not until I figured out Bruce and the animals were in real danger.”
I stand, pulling her close, squeezing her so tight you’d need the jaws of life to pry us apart.
“You did do something, darlin’. You got the fuck out of there while the going was good,” I tell her.
“And I stole a tiger, a compromised laptop, and a truck. I’m going to rot behind bars,” she whispers, her voice so scared. So faint.
“Like hell,” I snap, still glaring at Faulk. “Is she?”
“No,” Faulk agrees slowly. “She’s not. But we have some serious grunt work to do ASAP. The Fosses’ sanctuary is a non-profit, and there’s a lot of crap that looks murky. Their tax records, for one, but that would be an IRS thing...the FBI wouldn’t have the sole discretion to dig that deep into financials. However, if they did steal your identity—”
“They did steal it,” I snarl. “Not if.”
Faulk nods, his head hanging low for a few seconds before it snaps back up.
“I’m sorry as hell to be the messenger, man. Believe me. What I’m saying, though, is that along with Willow’s identity, it looks like they’ve pulled this shit before with other employees. Two to be exact. Both of those people conveniently had accidents, so they’re no longer around to do any talking.”
“They killed them?” Willow asks slowly.
“Shit,” I grind out.
“They died in car accidents. There’s no proof, but of course the mind goes right to...y’know.” Faulk shrugs. “The accounts that were set up had Exotic Plains as the benefactor of their earnings. They also got hefty payments from other accounts obviously being used as mules and shell accounts.”
“The hell does that mean?” I ask with a snort.
“Means they’re set up only to act as money filters. Real common trick of the trade in the black market dealings. The money runs through so many accounts that are opened and closed as soon as the transfers are done, the trail goes dark. In this case, the refuge ends up with a large donation—only, in reality, it ain’t a donation at all. It’s blood money from illegal animals. That wart on Minot ain’t Priscilla and Niles’ first rodeo with big cats, either, but it’s the first place they’ve owned outright. The scum have learned to be slick. Their tracks are fully covered, leaving ’em squeaky clean.”
“Oh my God. What are we going to do?” Willow asks breathlessly. “How do we stop this?”
I look at Faulk, folding my arms, fighting back the chill creeping up my back.
“Tell us where to start.”
Faulk’s expression is grim. “Start with Bruce. We have to get that poor cat out of here, off to a new permanent home, or he’ll end up in FBI seizure for sure. Anything could happen to him then.” He looks at me, a familiar anger hot in his emerald eyes. “Along with your property, Grady. And your business for being an accomplice.”
Arrow, meet my chest.
Suddenly my lungs won’t work, hateful shrapnel lodged in my throat.
It hurts to even breathe, but I have to. I need to say—
“No!” Willow jumps in. “No way, dude. He’s not involved.”
“Yes, he is,” Faulk says, his voice torn. “Without hard facts, he’s been harboring you and the tiger too long to be innocent collateral damage. In the eyes of the Bureau, he’s one more suspect.”
“Shit,” I huff out, releasing Willow and taking a brisk step away.
My fists want to start knocking holes in the wall.
But I’ve never let fear do the talking, and now’s not a time to start.
