ASHES ON THE HIGHWAY

Chapter 89

Sandra’s deeper investigation into Curtis Ashworth took the better part of a week, and what she eventually uncovered painted a picture considerably more complicated than simple grief-fueled bitterness.

"He’s not acting entirely alone," she reported, spreading fresh documentation across the chapel table while Reaper, Daniel, and Piper listened with grim focus. "Curtis has been in regular contact with two former Meridian employees, both of whom lost significant income when the company dissolved following Victor’s conviction. Neither has a criminal record, but their online communications suggest they share Curtis’s belief that your family — and specifically Whitfield’s article — destroyed something they consider legitimate."

"Delusional," Piper said flatly.

"Delusional, but apparently well-funded," Sandra continued. "Victor Ashworth’s personal assets were largely seized as part of his sentencing, but he apparently maintained several accounts overseas that federal investigators never fully traced. Curtis has access to considerable money, more than a twenty-two-year-old with no independent income should reasonably have."

"How considerable," Reaper asked.

"Hard to quantify precisely," Sandra admitted, "but enough that I’d estimate he could sustain this kind of surveillance operation, plus whatever else he’s planning, for months without financial strain."

Daniel leaned forward, studying the accumulated evidence with the particular focus of a man who’d once built his own operation on exactly this kind of patient, resourced grievance. "Months of surveillance suggest he’s not planning something impulsive," he said. "This feels methodical. Like he’s building toward a specific moment rather than just venting frustration."

"That’s what worries me most," Reaper admitted.

The decision to confront Curtis directly came after considerable debate, Rowe advocating strongly for a more proactive approach rather than simply waiting for his surveillance to eventually reveal his actual intentions.

"We wait too long, and Cadence or Wyatt could already be in danger before we understand what we’re actually facing," she argued during a tense chapel meeting. "I’d rather force this into the open now, on our terms, than continue reacting to whatever he’s building toward."

"That’s exactly what got Marcus Alvarez this family’s attention four years too late," Ghost said, his gravelly voice carrying the particular authority of someone who’d survived every previous iteration of this same difficult calculation. "Sometimes forcing confrontation just accelerates whatever the other side’s already planning."

"And sometimes waiting gives them exactly the time they need to finish preparing," Reaper countered, though his expression carried visible uncertainty about which approach genuinely served their family’s safety better.

They settled eventually on a middle path — Daniel and two trusted patches approaching Curtis directly at his rental property, not with violence, but with clear, unmistakable acknowledgment that his surveillance had been noticed, hoping the confrontation itself might either de-escalate his intentions or, at minimum, force him to reveal more about his actual planning.

Curtis Ashworth, when Daniel finally confronted him outside his rental accommodations, proved younger and less composed than his careful weeks of surveillance had suggested.

"I know why you’re here," he said, his voice carrying the particular brittle defiance of someone caught doing something they’d convinced themselves was justified. "You’re going to threaten me, same as your family threatens everyone who gets in their way."

"Nobody’s threatening you," Daniel said evenly. "We’re simply letting you know your surveillance has been noticed. Watching a six-year-old’s elementary school, Curtis — that’s not the behavior of someone with a legitimate grievance. That’s the behavior of someone building toward something considerably darker."

"My father built a legitimate business," Curtis snapped, old grief and fresh anger tangling together in his voice. "Your family’s journalist friend destroyed it with a hit piece. He’s serving fifteen years now because of lies your family helped spread."

"Your father burned down a competitor’s shop," Daniel said, his own patience visibly straining. "He intimidated small business owners into selling below market value through fear and arson. Whitfield’s article documented facts, Curtis, verified through federal investigation. Your father’s conviction wasn’t built on lies. It was built on his own crimes."

Curtis’s composure cracked further, tears of frustrated grief mixing with obvious fury. "He’s my father," he said, voice breaking. "Whatever he did, he’s still my father, and I watched your family destroy him without a single consequence for yourselves."

"Nobody in my family did anything except refuse to be extorted," Daniel said, his voice softening slightly at the raw grief evident beneath Curtis’s anger. "Whatever happened to your father, Curtis, it’s not this family’s fault. It’s the consequence of choices he made."

Curtis said nothing further, his expression cycling through grief, fury, and something considerably more calculating that left Daniel reporting genuine unease when he returned to the compound that evening.

"He’s not going to just walk away," Daniel warned during the follow-up briefing. "Whatever grief he’s carrying about his father, it’s curdled into something considerably more dangerous. I don’t think confronting him accomplished what we hoped."

The escalation came three days later, though not in the form anyone had specifically anticipated.

Rowe received the call while working in the garage’s office, Wyatt napping in his portable crib nearby, Reaper’s voice carrying immediate, unmistakable alarm.

"Rowan, I need you to listen carefully," he said. "Cadence’s school just called. She’s safe, completely safe, but there was an incident during recess. A man tried to approach the playground fence, claiming to be a family friend picking her up early."

Rowe felt her blood run cold. "Curtis."

"The school’s security protocol worked exactly as it should," Reaper continued quickly. "Teacher recognized he wasn’t on the authorized pickup list, refused to release Cadence, called the office immediately. He left before police arrived, but Rowan—" his voice carried genuine fear now, "—he tried to take our daughter."

Rowe was already moving, grabbing Wyatt and her keys with shaking hands, old terror resurfacing with devastating, familiar intensity. "I’m coming to get her right now."

"I’m already there," Reaper said. "She’s fine, Rowan. Scared, but fine. The school’s holding her in the main office until we arrive."

They found Cadence exactly as promised, shaken but physically unharmed, wrapped in a school administrator’s spare jacket while she waited in the principal’s office with visible anxiety that broke Rowe’s heart the moment she saw it.

"Mommy," Cadence said, launching herself into Rowe’s arms the second she entered the room. "There was a man. He said he knew you, said you sent him to pick me up, but Mrs. Ramirez wouldn’t let him take me because he wasn’t on my list."

"You did exactly right, baby," Rowe said, holding her daughter tight enough to feel her own hands trembling. "You’re so brave. So smart, staying with your teacher."

The school principal, a composed woman named Dr. Ferris, waited until Cadence had calmed considerably before addressing the Kanes directly. "I’ve already contacted local police," she said. "We have security footage of the individual, and Mrs. Ramirez provided a detailed description. Given what she’s told me about his specific claims regarding your family relationship, I suspect this wasn’t a random incident."

"It wasn’t," Reaper confirmed grimly. "We have reason to believe we know who’s responsible. We’ll be coordinating directly with law enforcement going forward."

Dr. Ferris studied them both with visible concern. "I need to be direct with you," she said. "If there’s a credible, targeted threat against your daughter, the school needs updated safety protocols immediately. Photo identification requirements for all pickups, restricted playground access during recess, whatever additional security measures your family believes necessary."

"Understood," Reaper said. "We’ll implement whatever’s required."

That evening, once Cadence had finally settled into exhausted, anxious sleep despite Rowe’s careful reassurances, and Wyatt had similarly gone down for the night oblivious to the day’s terror, Rowe found herself unable to fully release the accumulated fear of how close they’d come to genuine catastrophe.

"He tried to take her," she said, voice still shaking hours after the initial incident. "Curtis Ashworth tried to walk our six-year-old daughter right out of her own school."

"I know," Reaper said, his own composure carrying visible strain despite his attempt to remain steady for her sake. "And he failed, because we prepared her, because the school’s protocols worked exactly as they should have."

"This time," Rowe said. "What about next time, Jax? What if he tries something considerably more sophisticated? What if he doesn’t fail?"

Reaper pulled her close, his own fear evident beneath his carefully maintained composure. "Then we make certain there isn’t a next time," he said fiercely. "Whatever it takes, Rowan. Curtis Ashworth just proved exactly how far he’s willing to go. Now we prove exactly how much further this family’s willing to go to protect our children."

Outside, the desert night stretched dark and quiet over the compound, betraying nothing of the fresh, personal danger now unmistakably, urgently threatening this family’s hard-won peace.

Curtis Ashworth had made his intentions unmistakably clear.

And Rowe, watching Cadence sleep with fresh, fierce protectiveness burning through every fiber of her being, found herself grimly, completely determined to make certain his next attempt would be his last.

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