Chapter 18
Rhett
“Do you want the good news or bad news first?” Beau asks as soon as I answer my phone.
I glance at Juniper, who’s still fast asleep in my bed.
“Give me a minute.”
After slipping on my jeans, I pad downstairs to my office, closing the door behind me.
“Okay. What did you find?”
Beau exhales, “What didn’t I find. Hilbert is a piece of shit. I’m shocked that his sins haven’t come to light before now.”
I sit in my chair and listen as Beau lays out everything. Each word makes me sick to my stomach.
“Has he preyed on anyone before Juniper?”
“Yes, but there’s no one who will come forward. He’s smart.”
“Don’t fucking say that,” I snap. “He’s not smart. He’s a predator and we’re going to take him down.”
Juniper’s face crosses my mind. The woman she is now clashing with the girl she used to be. The girl that Chester Hilbert tried to ruin.
“I want him destroyed,” I say. “Piece by piece. I want him to know we’re coming.”
“Then I’d suggest starting with his financial records. I’ll email them over.”
I end the call and boot up my laptop. The email is there, and I skim it over.
“Well, well, well. Looks like someone’s been skimming from the tithes,” I murmur to the empty room.
I scroll through the spreadsheets, eyes skimming columns until the numbers start to breathe a pattern.
Small withdrawals here, a series of innocuous consulting fees there, a routing number that keeps popping up.
My hands go cold, and my stomach drops in the same beat.
This isn’t just theft; it’s tidy and practiced.
Chester Hilbert didn’t just take advantage of Juniper. He set up a whole system to hide it.
I pull up a fresh document and start copying anything that looks like a breadcrumb. Dates, amounts, vendor names that resolve to PO boxes. Each entry feels like a little splinter being pried out of Juniper’s life. My jaw tightens until something inside my face hurts.
I draft an email to Beau with the most damning lines highlighted and attach the files.
Then I open a new tab and call Maria, the attorney I use for messy things.
Her voice is blunt and efficient; she doesn’t waste sympathy.
“Subpoena everything,” she says. “Bank, businesses, the works. And get me anything you’ve got that ties him to shell accounts.
I’ll file emergency motions.” I tell her I’ll bring her what I’ve found in an hour.
I close the laptop, stand, and walk to the window.
The ridge is outside, dark and steady, as if it has no idea of the violence unfolding in ledgers and legal filings.
I press my palm to the glass as if I could feel the earth under Juniper’s feet and promise her, without saying the words aloud, that I will make this right. Piece by piece, I will take him apart.
Juniper is awake when I go back upstairs.
I brush my lips against hers. “I’m going to run into town. Need anything?”
“After that shopping trip you took me on the other day? I think not.” She jokes back. “How long will you be gone?”
“A few hours.”
She gives me a sweet smile. “I’ll miss you.”
“Not as much as I’ll miss you,” I say back.
She’s dozed back off to sleep when I come out of the bathroom from changing my clothes, which might be a good thing. I’d never lie to her, but I don’t want to upset her by telling her why I’m headed into town.
Downstairs, I grab my keys and the slim manila folder with printed bank records and slide it into my bag.
The air outside is crisp, already carrying the faint tang of fall.
I keep the windows down in my truck as I drive into town.
Beau is waiting at the corner by the Maria’s office, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, eyes sharp in a way that makes the muscles along his jaw look dangerous.
Maria is already behind her desk, laptop open, legal pads stacked like armor.
She doesn’t look up when I come in; she just nods, the kind of acknowledgment that says she’s been two steps ahead the whole time.
We fill her in on everything while she types. Her eyes widen when we get to the part about how much money Chester’s been skimming.
“Subpoenas, for sure,” she says. “And we’ll need a motion to freeze assets if there’s probable cause to suspect embezzlement or fraud. We need the bank to hold transfers so we’ve got leverage.”
Beau swipes on his cell. “On it.”
We talk logistics. How to serve papers, who to call in town, which accounts to flag. The plan is crisp, legal, and methodical, and each step makes me feel a fraction of an inch more in control.
We stand an hour later. Maria folds her notes into her bag.
“I’ll file emergency motions. Be careful,” she says.
But what she doesn’t know is that Chester is the one who should be careful.
We spill out onto Main Street. The September light is hitting the storefronts and there’s more life now as people move about with the pleasant ignorance of the unaccused. I keep my head down as I form the stages of my plan.
“Son of a bitch,” Beau mutters.
I look up to see Chester Hilbert standing by the flower cart across the street, hands tucked behind his back like a man more comfortable with controlling things than carrying them. People give him space as they pass, a little deference in their steps because his name carries weight here.
The urge to cross the street and rip off his head is so strong that my knuckles pop.
Chester turns, and the smile is all charm. “Beau, always a pleasure. Maria, you too. As for you, Mr. Slade, well I just hope to see you in church again. I hear you’ve been hiding Juniper Quinn away from her parents.”
His voice carries just loud enough that others can hear what he’s saying.
So, I return the favor.
“Yeah. Offered her a job after her parents tried to send her to live with you.” I pause. “Odd, if you ask me.”
“What’s that?”
“That a pastor would want a young, unmarried woman staying with him. Alone.”
Chester’s cheeks turn pink. “Not as odd as a sinful bachelor having her stay with him.”
People are gathering, watching us like it’s a tennis match.
“Sinful bachelor?”
“Yes.”
My lips lift in a small smile. “Funny. You don’t have a problem taking my sinful money.”
“Pride goeth before the fall.”
The words hang between us like barbed wire, cutting on both sides. Chester’s eyes narrow just enough to betray the slip in his composure, a fracture in the perfect facade he’s so carefully built.
I take a slow step forward, my boots grinding against the gravel of Main Street. “Then you’d better hold tight to that pride, Pastor. You’re about to fall hard.”
A murmur runs through the onlookers, and the gossip mill of Ruin Ridge doesn’t miss a beat. Cameras come out. Chester notices and he straightens his collar to perform repentance with a practiced hand.
Beau’s hand brushes my elbow in warning. I shouldn’t do it here. But it’s too late. I’m already in it.
“You want to talk sin?” I continue, my voice low but clear. “How about the one where a man uses his pulpit to cover what he does behind closed doors?”
Chester’s jaw tightens. His pink cheeks have gone the color of wet clay.
“You should be careful what you say, Mr. Slade,” he murmurs. “Accusations without proof can ruin a man’s life.”
“Good thing I’ve got plenty of proof,” I say. “And a lawyer who knows what to do with it.”
For a heartbeat, silence. Even the wind seems to hold its breath. Chester’s eyes flick between us and you can see the wheel turning in his head.
Then he smiles, thin and reptilian. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“Oh, I do,” I say, stepping closer until we’re eye to eye. “A coward hiding behind scripture. But here’s the thing about cowards—they always run when the truth catches up.” I turn to Beau and Maria. “Let’s go.”
We walk away, the crowd parting around us, whispers following like smoke.
Behind me, Chester calls out, “You’ll regret this, Slade!”
I glance back just once. “Maybe,” I say. “But you’ll regret it more.”
“I’ll pray for you, Mr. Slade.” Chester’s words hang in the air, heavy and venom laced.
“Don’t bother,” I call over my shoulder. “You’ve already got enough to atone for.”
We split up after that. I know Chester, and he’s not dumb.
He’s going to go into defense mode, which means we need to move.
Fast. Maria assures me we’ll be able to make a move by the end of the day.
Beau says he’ll meet up with Sawyer, which means that even if Maria doesn’t come up with anything that he will.
I head to the bank, closing my door as I get to work. Time slips away from me until a knock on the door has me looking up. I’m shocked as hell to see my ex-wife standing there.
She enters, closing the door like she has every right to be there.
“Hi, baby.”
What in the actual fuck?
“Are you lost,” I ask, closing my laptop.
Her light laugh fills the air. “No, silly. I saw your light was on and wanted to say hello.”
“What do you want?” My tone is dry, leaving no room for her to assume I give a fuck.
“We never talk anymore,” she says, sliding into the seat across from my desk. “I miss you.”
I huff out a small laugh. “We’re not married, Tilly. Why would we talk?”
She smirks, crossing one leg over the other like she’s still got some kind of claim on me.
“Because you owe me that much,” she says sweetly. “After everything we went through.”
“Went through?” I repeat, arching a brow. “You mean the part where you tried to clear out my savings? Or the part where you tried to come crawling back when you realized your new husband didn’t have as much money as me?”
Her lips tighten, but she doesn’t flinch. “You always were good at twisting things.”
“And you were always good at lying.”
The silence between us crackles, heavy and bitter. I lean back in my chair, arms crossing over my chest. “Spit it out, Tilly. What are you really here for?”
She glances toward the window, like she’s making sure no one can hear.