Chapter 1

Before the morning sun could even hit my window, the battered wooden door to my place was violently kicked open.

"Drew Ferrer, you bastard! Hand my husband over right now!"

Accompanied by shrill screams and sobs, seven women covered in gold and other jewelry burst into my tiny, barely-400-square-foot rental apartment like a pack of crazed animals.

Then came the sensation of ice-cold metal.

A SWAT officer pressed the barrel of his service weapon directly against my forehead.

"Don't move! Hands behind your head!"

I was still standing there with half a toothbrush sticking out of my mouth, completely frozen in confusion.

Sandra Vlachos—the wife of Vince Vlachos, the "Fishing Expedition Team" group chat owner—charged forward and grabbed my collar. Her heavily manicured nails scratched several bloody marks into my neck.

"Officers, it's him! He was the only person in the group chat who didn't go yesterday! He has to be the person behind this! He worked with outsiders to kidnap Vince and the others!"

I was forced against the mold-covered wall, my cheek pressed against the cold plaster.

They turned my entire apartment upside down. Even the coffee table with the broken leg was flipped over, sending my half-eaten sandwich scattering across the floor.

The wives stared at my bare-bones apartment, unable to hide the disgust in their eyes.

"Goodness, how can anyone live in a dump like this?"

"He doesn't even own a decent TV. No wonder he kidnapped Vince and the others. He must've been desperate for money!"

"People at the bottom of society like him really will do anything for money."

The insults hit me like slaps across the face, one after another. But strangely, I wasn't afraid. All I felt was an odd urge to laugh.

The lead detective strode over to me, his eyes sharp.

"Drew Ferrer, explain where you were between 8:00 pm last night and 4:00 am this morning."

I spat out the toothpaste in my mouth and awkwardly fished my cracked phone out of my pocket.

"Officer, check the group chat logs."

I opened the group chat titled "Fishing Expedition Team".

The detective took the phone and tapped on a voice message Vince had sent the night before. He played it through the speaker, and Vince's voice echoed through my cramped apartment, sounding especially harsh.

"Drew's a broke-ass loser who can't even cough up the 500-dollar entry fee. Don't bother bringing him along. He'll ruin the mood! Just let him stay at home and eat his damn tacos," he said, before breaking into raucous laughter.

Dead silence filled the room.

Sandra, who had been so arrogant just moments ago, instantly froze.

I shrugged, trying to look as natural as possible with my hands cuffed.

"Ladies, officers, I wanted to join in on the kidnapping too, honestly. But I couldn't even scrape together enough gas money to get to the reservoir."

I pulled up my account balance in front of everyone.

My bank account had less than ten dollars in it, while my digital wallet showed that I was 70 dollars behind on payments.

A self-deprecating laugh escaped me as my eyes swept over the high-and-mighty ladies who had always looked down on me.

"A guy like me who doesn't even know where tomorrow's breakfast is coming from… is supposed to kidnap your millionaire husbands?"

Just then, a young officer from the tech department rushed in, his expression grim.

"Detective, we've looked into it. Vince Vlachos and the others' location data was tampered with. By the time they sent their location last night, their real signal had already dropped off near the border. And…"

The officer glanced at the group of women and hesitated.

I pointed to the photo on Sandra's phone, the one Vince had sent last night showing off his massive catch. In the picture, Vince was holding a gigantic fish, grinning from ear to ear.

"Sandra, that's tuna. It's a saltwater fish. The reservoir is freshwater, and it dried up 30 years ago. And the burr-covered weeds in the background? Those are from the poppy family. They can't even grow locally."

I picked up the remains of my sandwich and took a bite.

"They weren't going fishing. They were going to their deaths."

In that instant, I saw Sandra's legs buckle. Her earlier arrogance evaporated instantly, replaced by a fear that seemed to come from deep inside her bones. The anger of a woman convinced her husband was cheating had turned into the despair of someone realizing she might soon become a widow.

Just then, the detective's radio crackled, the harsh static sounding like a death knell.

"Detective! We found an unregistered off-road vehicle downstream along the border river. There's blood everywhere, but there's no one around.

"We also found a large number of shell casings at the scene. The preliminary assessment suggests… the worst."

Sandra's eyes rolled back, and she passed out cold.