THE CADILLAC AT FOUR O'CLOCK

Standing in the doorway of the kitchen was the manager, Arthur.

He was wet, his starched white shirt clinging to his chest, his narrow tie crooked and soaked through. But he wasn't holding his usual clipboard or register keys. In his right hand, he held a sleek snub-nosed revolver, pointed straight at Thomas's chest.

"Don't move, Thomas," Arthur said, his voice shaking with a pathetic mix of fear and greed. "Just keep your hands where I can see them."

Clara gasped, pulling back against the refrigerator.

"How did you find this place, Arthur?" Thomas asked calmly, his body relaxed, his weight balanced evenly on the balls of his feet.

"I followed your leaky oil pan, you idiot," Arthur sneered, stepping further into the kitchen. "You think you're the only one who knows how to keep track of people? Vance gave me five grand just to tell him where you took the girl."

"Vance is going to kill you, Arthur," Thomas said flatly. "You know that, don't you? A man like Vance doesn't leave witnesses. Once he has the girl and the ledger, you're just another loose end."

Arthur's eyes darted nervously toward the window. "Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about! Vance promised me a twenty percent stake in the regional distribution route if I helped him secure Miller's old records! Miller hid a copy of the ledger in the diner's basement before he died!"

Thomas's eyes narrowed. "In the basement?"

"Under the grease trap," Arthur blurted out, unable to control his frantic energy. "Miller was Vance's accountant before he retired! That's why he bought the diner—to keep the hard copies of the financial logs safe from the feds! That's why Vance is coming tomorrow at four! The transfer of the property deeds clears at midnight tonight!"

Clara looked at Thomas, the pieces finally falling into place. "The warning... my father didn't tell me about the lake house. He told me about the diner's basement! I confused the two because I was so terrified!"

"It doesn't matter now," Arthur growled, raising the revolver with both hands. "Vance is on his way here right now. He told me to keep you two here until he arrives."

"Arthur," Thomas said softly, taking half a step forward. "Look at your weapon."

"What?" Arthur blinked, lowering his eyes for a fraction of a second to look at the revolver in his hands.

That fraction of a second was all Thomas needed.

Thomas lunged forward, his left hand snapping out to grab Arthur's wrist, twisting it violently outward while his right palm smashed upward into Arthur's chin.

A loud crack echoed through the small kitchen as Arthur's jaw broke. The revolver clattered to the linoleum floor. Arthur let out a muffled scream, stumbling backward into the counter before Thomas delivered a sharp, crushing hook to his temple, knocking the manager unconscious.

Arthur crumpled onto the floor in an untidy heap, his white shirt stained with blood from his broken mouth.