Chapter 4 - A Knock at the Door
The heavy steel door of the workshop groaned as Marcus Vance pushed it open. He stepped into the dim light of the shop, brushing a speck of imaginary dust off his tailored Italian wool coat. His bodyguard, a man whose neck was thicker than George’s thigh, stood silently behind him, blocking the only exit.
George stood in the center of the shop, leaning casually on his cane with his left hand, his right hand resting near the heavy iron crowbar on the workbench.
"Mr. Whitaker," Vance said, his voice smooth and dripping with false sympathy. "I was terribly sorry to hear about Daniel. He was a good contractor. A bit... naive when it came to business, but a hard worker."
"Save the eulogy, Vance," George said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "I know who you are. I know what you were doing with my son’s wife. And I know what you've been doing with my son’s company."
Vance’s practiced smile didn't reach his cold, dead eyes. He took a few steps forward, looking around the expansive workshop. "Then you know why I'm here. Marissa called me from the courthouse in an absolute panic. She said you submitted a video to the judge. That was very foolish, George. You’ve stirred up a hornet's nest that you simply do not have the resources to survive."
"I survived a war in Vietnam, Vance," George replied, his gaze unwavering. "I survived the death of my wife. I survived the funeral of my only son. A man in an overpriced suit who steals from honest people doesn't frighten me."
Vance chuckled darkly. "Bravado. How charming. Let me explain the reality of your situation, old man. Marissa is a hysterical fool, but she was useful. She gave me access to Daniel’s banking routing numbers. However, Daniel realized what was happening before he died. He took a ledger. A physical record of my... alternative investments. I know it's in this shop. Hand it over, and I'll let you keep the life insurance money. Refuse, and my associate here will beat you to death with your own cane, and we'll burn this shop to the foundation."
"You think I'm going to let you walk away after you destroyed my son's life?" George asked, his grip tightening on the workbench.
"Daniel destroyed his own life the second he started looking into my accounts," Vance snapped, dropping the polite facade. "Now. Where is the ledger?"
George looked at Vance, then at the massive bodyguard. "The ledger is safe. But you made a mistake coming here, Marcus."
"Oh? And why is that?"
"Because Daniel didn't just build houses," George said softly. "He built smart homes. He wired this entire shop with the same automated security grid he installs for his clients. Including the motion-activated, high-definition cameras sitting right above your head."
Vance froze, his eyes darting upward to the ceiling beams. A small, red light blinked steadily from a camera lens pointed directly at his face.
"That camera automatically uploads to an off-site cloud server," George continued, his voice steady and cold. "Which means you just confessed to extortion, conspiracy, and threatening a witness on a live digital feed. By the time your ape there finishes beating me, the police will already have the footage."
Vance’s face drained of color. He looked at the camera, then back at George, pure venom in his eyes.
"This isn't over, Whitaker," Vance hissed. "You can't protect that evidence forever. And you can't protect your granddaughter."
George’s heart stopped. Lily.
"If you ever go near Lily," George whispered, the protective fury of a grandfather turning his blood to ice, "I will kill you myself."
"We'll see," Vance sneered. He turned to his bodyguard. "Let's go. We need to leave the state. Now."
The two men rushed out the door. The tires of the G-Wagon threw gravel into the air as they sped away down the access road.
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George didn't wait. He grabbed the duffel bag, locked the shop, and climbed into his truck. Vance was running, and he was taking his money with him. But George wasn't going to let him escape. It was time to spring the final trap.
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