Ranger - Jericho's Boys #4 - ch. 20 (Patreon)

These last few chapters are like pulling teeth per usual but Im going to try to knock out these last chapters this week so I can pass it off to Liam and focus on Vengeful Bonds, The Night Movers, Learning Curve and the Halloween fics.

Unedited/Unbeta'd. Sorry if its a mess.

Bethany wasn’t at work. She’d been home ‘sick’ for two days. Seven had spent the time driving to Bethany’s townhouse picturing every worst-case scenario, imagining the people running this enterprise deciding she’d fucked up too badly to keep around, or that she’d made a run for it.

But when they knocked, she opened the door in unicorn pajama pants, a shockingly pink tank top, and a threadbare oatmeal colored sweater, her chestnut brown hair shoved into a messy bun. Her nose and eyes were red and swollen; she clutched a wad of tissues in the hand she used to gesture for them to come inside.

“You’re Seven, right?” she asked, voice small and beaten.

“Yeah. We need to talk," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She nodded and backed away from the open door into her definitely over-budget townhouse. Seven knew what his mother made and there was no way she could have afforded a place this nice. He couldn't stop himself from taking in the large flat screen, the expensive sofa, the granite countertops. She wasn't even trying to hide that she was getting money from somewhere other than her job.

She flopped onto the couch and pointed to the two armchairs opposite it. The coffee table was a graveyard of tea cups; a small trashcan lived between the table and the sofa. A blanket and a pillow were half-tucked into the cushions, and a vampire show rerun droned on low.

“So. Talk,” she said, and blew her nose loudly.

“Why did you frame my mother?” Seven asked.

Bethany froze. Her watery eyes went wide. “What?”

Seven glowered at her. He wasn't in the mood for her innocent act. “You heard me. We have proof. Don’t waste our time lying. Did she get too close to realizing your boss was trafficking women?”

Bethany blinked so fast the words came out wrong and ragged. “Wh–what?” A coughing fit seized her; when it finally relented she shook her head. “That’s not true. He wouldn’t do that. He takes care of those women.”

“He?” Enzo prompted.

“Grant,” she said.

“The director?” Enzo asked to confirm.

“Yeah.” The word deflated halfway through; she wrapped the fuzzy blanket tighter around herself like a shield. “He…he’s a good man.”

Seven narrowed his eyes. “Why does it sound like you don’t believe that?”

She just shrugged, now refusing to make eye contact.

“You’re dating, aren’t you?” Enzo said.

She didn’t deny it. She only shrugged. “I guess you could call it that.”

“Does his wife know?” Seven guessed. 

Now Bethany glared at him. “He’s divorced. I’m not a home wrecker.”

Enzo tapped the arm of his chair with one finger. “Does he pay for this townhouse?”

“Is that a crime?” Bethany snapped. A sneeze punctured the edge of her anger and made her sound smaller.

“It is if he’s using embezzled funds to pay for it,” Enzo said flatly.

Seven leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Or the money he earned trafficking the women he was supposed to help.”

“It’s–not what it looks like.” Her voice went thin and rushed. “He’s helping those women. He gets them jobs, helps them relocate, gives them brand-new lives under different names so their abusers can’t find them or their children again.” Tears tracked down her cheeks; she swiped at them with a crumpled tissue. 

Seven couldn’t tell if the tears were from a head cold or from grief over someone she loved enough to commit crimes for. He tried to picture this Grant person. He was sure he'd met him at some point but he was drawing a blank. He couldn't imagine he was worth all this.

“That’s what he told you?” Seven asked, lip curling.

“And you believed him?” Enzo added, hard.

“It’s the truth!” she shot back, then shrank under the blanket again, eyes darting to the hallway like she expected someone to come barreling through. “Isn’t it?”

“Bethany,” Enzo said, his voice taking on that smooth cadence he used when he was cross-examining a witness. The one he used to lure them into a false sense of security. It was sexy as hell. “You seem like a nice woman who maybe got mixed up in something bigger than you knew. Let’s go back to the beginning and see if we can piece this together. Okay?”

She hesitated, then nodded, reaching for her mug. She sipped and made a face before setting it down. “I need more tea.”

She shrugged off the blanket and shuffled into the kitchen, hitting the kettle’s switch with a thumb that trembled. Enzo and Seven exchanged a look and followed. She gestured to the barstools pushed under the island; Enzo pulled one out and offered it to Seven, then settled on the other.

“You were the one who dumped those files onto that thumb drive, right?” Seven asked. "You framed my mother."

Tears leaked instantly. “I–I panicked.”

"Did Grant tell you to do it?" Seven asked.

"No, I just...I was worried that they wouldn't think she was framing me just with the files they had. I wanted to make sure they...didn't suspect me."

She bit her bottom lip, like she realized she was trying to garner sympathy from her victims son.

“So you were embezzling money for the company?” Enzo asked.

Bethany’s answer was a messy nod and a shake at the same time. “I was, but not for the reason you think.”

Enzo steepled his fingers together on the counter. "Did you do it for your own self-interest or did Grant somehow coerce you into doing it?"

Seven’s brow lifted, waiting for the altruistic justification for stealing from a charity.

“Grant asked me to… siphon money from WERC to help those women start new lives,” Bethany said, words tumbling. “He told me it was the only way. That charity oversight and donors made it impossible to do the work properly. That to truly protect them we needed new passports, new identities, things that cost money.”

“You did it because he said it was necessary?” Seven’s voice was quiet and flat, disbelief wrapped in accusation.

“He showed me pictures,” she said, clutching her empty mug like it was an anchor. “Former clients. Smiling women with apartments and jobs. He said they were safe. He said we were saving them.”

“Was the previous financial director in on this too? Damian?” Enzo asked.

She hesitated, then nodded. “We were both happy to help. We thought we were giving them new lives.”

“Did it never once occur to you that Grant was trafficking these women?” Seven demanded.

“He wouldn’t do that!” she cried.

“Except he did.” Seven’s words landed hard. “He did do that. We have proof. Proof you gave us.”

“What?” Her face crumpled.

Seven shook his head. How could someone be so blind? Instantly, his mother's face popped into his head. He'd spent years thinking that she'd been this blinded by love for his father. Only to find out that she was only giving in to protect him. He doubted Bethany's motives were that noble.

“Those files you dumped in Neith’s bag.” Enzo’s tone was steady, clinical. “You handed us Grant’s entire operation. Thanks to you, we know who he took, which donor bought them, and–if we’re lucky–where they are so we can pull them out. But that wasn’t your intent, was it?”

Bethany sank back against the counter, hands covering her mouth. “No. No way. He wasn’t doing that. Grant and his friends…they have always–” Her voice broke; she trailed off as the kettle clicked and beeped.

She turned, the movement small and mechanical, and poured hot water over a teabag. She stood there, shoulders shaking as she sobbed. Seven had a hard time finding sympathy in himself; pity and anger tangled where sympathy might have been had she not framed his mother.

When she finally forced herself to turn, she cradled the mug like it might keep her together. Her smile was a wobble. “Can we go back to the living room? I’m a little dizzy.”

Seven watched her, every muscle taut. He didn’t trust the tremor–not yet–but he couldn’t ignore how small she looked against the brightness of her kitchen lights.

Once they were settled and Bethany was wrapped again in her fuzzy blanket, she looked at them with red-rimmed eyes. “Ask me anything. I’ll try to answer.”

“Why did you frame my mother?” Seven spat, glaring. “She really liked you.”

“I like her,” Bethany cried. “I didn’t want to frame her, but Grant said if he or I went down for it, we wouldn’t be able to help those women.”

Seven’s lip curled. “You thought my mom was a better sacrifice?”

“Grant said if Neith knew the whole story, she would have volunteered as the scapegoat because she was so devoted to the cause. I begged him–begged him–to let me tell her what was going on, but he refused. He said the more people who knew, the more dangerous it would become. And after the Marcus situation, I knew he was right.”

“Marcus? What did he have to do with this?” Enzo asked.

“Grant brought him in because he was related to a donor who all but insisted Grant hire him. But pretty quickly it became clear he wasn’t a good person. He was harassing the women we were meant to help. Neith insisted he be fired. Grant said they couldn’t fire the relative of a donor. He quietly found him another job. A better job.”

“That wasn’t a red flag to you?” Seven’s voice went sharp. “You didn’t care that someone who clearly abused his power over women was not only not disciplined, but was helped to find a better place where he could keep victimizing vulnerable people?”

“I didn’t see it that way. I-” She cut herself off, sipping tea and wincing. “I guess I just didn’t want to see it that way.”

“Why did Grant kill Damian?” Enzo asked.

“What?” Bethany gasped. “He didn’t. That was an accident.”

“Damian was allergic to alcohol. Why would he drink and drive?” Seven pushed.

She closed her eyes and looked suddenly years older. “No. He was a recovering alcoholic. Grant said he was–” Her words fell away. When she opened her eyes, she said, “He lied about that too, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, Bethany.” Enzo’s tone was flat. “I’m guessing he got Damian a better job to cover his tracks and pull Neith in as the fall guy.”

“But why kill him then?” she whispered.

Enzo huffed. “Traffickers aren’t big on loose ends.”

“Grant promoted my mother over you because she was onto you, right?” Seven asked.

Bethany nodded. “If she kept pushing, she would have figured out what we were doing. I didn't think it would be that bad, but Grant was insistent. When your mother mentioned bringing in former clients, I tried to casually dissuade her. I thought it had worked. Then Grant got word of a DOJ audit. At first he thought your mother had triggered it somehow, like she was starting to suspect Grant was using the charity in ways that weren’t permitted. It turned out to be a terrible coincidence, but either way they were about to discover what we were doing. That’s when Grant said we had to frame her.”

She folded in on herself, as if the blanket could hold the weight of the secret. For a beat, none of them spoke–only the low hum of voices from the television filled the room–and the truth sat between them, far too big to ignore.

“But if Neith went down for the embezzlement, wouldn’t that mean the operation was dead in the water?” Enzo asked.

“He said we’d just wait for the heat to die down and start again,” Bethany said, voice thin. “That if WERC burned, we’d find another charity, another shell, and pick up where we left off.”

Seven shook his head. “And none of that seemed shady to you at all?”

She shrugged, then suddenly her head snapped up. “Am I–am I gonna have to testify about all of this? Against Grant?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Seven snapped. “Your boyfriend’s been trafficking hundreds of women and children and you’re worried you might have to testify? You’ll be lucky if you don’t go to prison as a human trafficker, Bethany.”

“What? No. No way. I didn’t do that. I didn’t know about any of that.” She gasped as her tea sloshed over the rim and scalded her hand. She hissed and pressed her fingers to the cup.

Seven scoffed. “It’s not about what you knew. It’s about what you did. If you’re lucky, a jury might decide you were just really, really stupid and missed the red flags. But given how fast my mother started to piece things together, it’s not looking good for you, Bethany.”

For a beat, the room went quiet again–because he was right. A first-year law student could argue Bethany lacked the specific intent to traffic, but on cross-examination Enzo could shred that defense: she’d handled the books. She’d moved money. She should have seen the pattern. Hell, she’d had the evidence in her hands whether she knew it or not. She’d passed it to Neith in that thumb drive.

Seven knew his mother wouldn’t want Bethany jailed for trafficking, even though she had helped set her up. That was who Neith was–first to forgive and first to fight. She would argue Bethany hadn’t knowingly endangered those women, just been blinded by love. Neith knew what it meant to be that kind of love blind.

“Am I going to jail?” Bethany asked, voice small.

“There’s a chance–a small chance–that if you cooperate, you can ask for conditional immunity and testify against Grant,” Enzo said.

“But then you’ll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, wondering when his powerful friends will come to tie up loose ends,” Seven said.

Bethany’s face went sallow. “So that’s it? I’m just…going to prison? Or I...die?”

Seven and Enzo exchanged a look before Seven said, “I guess that depends on you.”

She sniffled. “I’m listening…”

“You come with us to the station, confess, and show the real records–”

“They’ll arrest me!” she blurted.

“You’re going to face jail time regardless if this goes where it’s going,” Enzo said, voice low. “But if you lead with full cooperation–give us everything, tell the DA what you know, and testify–we can try to get you a deal. You help clear Neith’s name, and I’ll post bail and put you somewhere safe while the case moves forward.”

She shook her head, eyes wide. “No. He’ll freak out if he knows I confessed.”

Seven’s expression hardened. “Your options are, go to jail, get bailed out, help us take down Grant’s trafficking ring, and then disappear. Or go to prison and wait for Grant’s donors to hire someone to make sure you never talk. Choice is yours. We already have the proof. We just prefer to handle things…in-house.”

She looked between them, eyes huge. “What does that mean?”

“It means you have a decision to make, Bethany,” Seven said. “Save Grant or save yourself.”

“Don’t throw your life away for a man who thinks women are property,” Enzo said. “Be better than that.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “But…what about my mother? I—I can’t leave her behind. She’s really sick. She needs me. If they'll come after me, they'll come after her.

“We can help you both disappear,” Enzo said. “But you’re going to have to do some things for us first.”

She sagged, the relief in her face immediate and almost sickening after how readily she’d helped frame Neith. For a second, Seven felt like he could see the ledger in her hands, the transactions blurred into the man she’d chosen over his mother.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” she whispered. “Just–please make sure my mother is okay.”