Chapter 3: Laying the Trap

Early the next morning, a few burly guys wearing thick gold chains showed up at the door. Sure enough, Rick Mathers came along as a witness.

They rolled up in a black Escalade, boots crunching over the frost as they swaggered to the porch, chains glinting like they were auditioning for a music video. Rick hung back, hands shoved into the pockets of his shiny puffer jacket, face set in that same cocky smirk from high school.

I didn’t say a word. I took a box of cash from the trunk of my Cadillac, counted out $18,000, and handed it over to those fierce-looking loan sharks. They took the money and left without making a scene.

I could feel my neighbors’ eyes on me through the blinds—small towns notice everything. As I handed over the cash, my palms were sweaty, but my face stayed blank. That kind of money in cash—enough to buy a new F-250—made even the tough guys stand a little taller.

Rick glanced at my brand-new Cadillac, then at the box with plenty of cash still inside. His eyes lit up instantly, like a predator spotting prey. I knew that if he didn’t see the bait, he’d never take the hook.

He lingered by the curb, letting his eyes wander greedily over the Cadillac’s paint job, and I recognized that look: the hungry calculation of a man who always wanted more. I made sure he saw me tucking the rest of the cash away, letting the lure dangle just out of reach.

He smiled and offered me a Marlboro. For a second, I hesitated—my cousin had warned me never to trust Rick—but I took the cigarette anyway, keeping up the act. The lighter flicked, and smoke curled between us, thick and sweet.

"Mike, I feel bad too, you know? Didn’t figure your cousin would crack over a couple hands. If I’d known, maybe I’d have let him walk with his cash."

I forced myself to swallow my anger, but the heart rate monitor on my Apple Watch kept flashing warnings, giving me away. Rick eyed the flashing watch with curiosity and leaned in for a closer look. I slipped it off, heart thudding, hoping he couldn’t see my hands shaking.

I didn’t want him to see how furious I was. My voice came out steady, but my jaw was clenched tight enough to ache. I stared over his shoulder, past the row of leafless maples lining the street, searching for something to anchor myself.

"It’s not your fault. He was a grown man. If he gambled, he had to accept losing. I just want to know why he ended up owing so much in high-interest loans, why he jumped into the river—what exactly happened?" The words tasted bitter. I tried to sound casual, but I was digging for the truth with every syllable.

"I don’t know about that. Don’t ask me."

Rick’s expression shifted, eyes darting sideways. For a second, the cockiness slipped, replaced by something mean and sharp.

"But if you want answers, you can come to my place and see for yourself."

He took a deep drag on his cigarette, blew a smoke ring in my face, and looked at me provocatively.

I held back my anger and bumped Rick hard with my shoulder as I passed him. I could feel his eyes burning into my back as I walked away.

"Alright, I’ll definitely come."

The words came out colder than I intended, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to know I wasn’t backing down.

Rick stumbled from the impact, threw his cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it, then pointed at me and said, his voice low and full of warning, "I’ll be waiting for you."

With that, he revved his Cayenne and roared away from my uncle’s house. The engine echoed down the street, scattering a couple of crows from the gutter. The neighborhood felt emptier after he left, like a storm had just passed through.