Chapter 2 - The Sound of Sirens

Four months later, the justice system had ground Victor and Laura into fine dust.

Because of the overwhelming evidence—the trust documents covered in Emily’s blood, the warehouse crime scene, and the staggering financial fraud uncovered by my team—the District Attorney had pushed for a fast-tracked trial. Victor had tried to hire high-powered defense attorneys, but with his assets frozen by the feds and his reputation destroyed, he was forced to rely on an overworked public defender.

Laura had turned on him instantly. The moment she realized she was facing twenty years in a federal penitentiary, her survival instincts kicked in. She signed a plea deal, agreeing to testify against Victor in exchange for a reduced sentence of five years for accessory to kidnapping.

It was the night before Emily was scheduled to take the stand and deliver her victim impact statement.

I was staying with Emily at a secure penthouse suite in downtown, a fortress of steel and reinforced glass, guarded by my best men. It was a rainy, miserable night. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the dark corners of the city.

I was in the kitchen, pouring two mugs of hot tea, when the perimeter alarm on my smartwatch silently vibrated.

I stopped pouring. The vibration pattern was specific: Breach at the service elevator.

Victor had somehow posted a massive, anonymous cash bond two days prior—likely a final, desperate loan from a loan shark unaware of his toxic status—and was out on house arrest. I knew he was desperate. A man staring down the barrel of a life sentence has nothing to lose. He knew that if Emily testified tomorrow, the coffin was nailed shut.

I walked calmly to the living room. "Emily," I said softly.

She looked up from her book. She had blossomed in the last four months. Therapy had helped her process the trauma, and being away from her toxic mother had allowed her true, vibrant personality to return.

"Go to the safe room, sweetie," I said, my voice betraying no panic. "Lock the heavy door. Don't come out until I give you the password."

Her eyes widened, but she didn't argue. She trusted me completely. She moved swiftly down the hall, and I heard the heavy titanium door click shut.

I pulled a silenced Glock 19 from the biometric safe hidden beneath the coffee table, checked the chamber, and moved to the shadows near the entryway.

The service elevator dinged softly. The heavy fire door creaked open.

Footsteps. Heavy, erratic, and desperate.

Victor stepped into the dim light of the penthouse hallway. He was soaking wet from the rain, shivering violently. He had cut his ankle monitor off—a federal crime in itself. In his trembling hand, he held a cheap, unregistered revolver. He looked like a wild animal, his eyes wide and manic.

He didn't make it three steps into the foyer before the lights snapped on, blinding him.

"Drop it, Victor," I commanded. I was standing ten feet away, my weapon aimed perfectly at his center of mass. I didn't yell. I didn't flinch.

Victor froze, shielding his eyes from the glare. When his vision adjusted, he saw the barrel of my gun and the absolute certainty in my eyes.

"Where is she?" Victor screamed, his voice cracking. "If she doesn't testify, they have no star witness! I can beat the fraud charges, but I can't beat her testimony! Tell her to drop it, Daniel!"

"You really think killing my daughter is going to save you?" I asked, keeping my voice level. "Look around you, Victor. Look at what you've become."

He looked down at his soaked clothes, his shaking hands, the cheap gun. He let out a pathetic, guttural sob. "I had everything! I was respected! You ruined my life!"

"You ruined your own life the second you laid a hand on my child," I replied coldly. "Now put the gun on the floor, or I will put you on the floor. And unlike you, I don't miss."

Victor raised the revolver, aiming it wildly in my direction. His hand was shaking so badly he couldn't have hit the broad side of a barn. "I'm not going to prison!" he shrieked.

I didn't shoot to kill. Death would be an easy escape for a coward like Victor.

I squeezed the trigger once. The silenced shot was a sharp thwip.

The bullet shattered Victor’s right kneecap.

He screamed—a high, piercing sound of absolute agony—and collapsed onto the hardwood floor. The revolver clattered away into the corner. He clutched his bleeding leg, writhing in pain, sobbing uncontrollably.

Marcus and two tactical guards burst through the front doors a second later, their rifles raised. They saw Victor bleeding on the floor and lowered their weapons.

"Ambulance?" Marcus asked casually, as if asking about the weather.

"Eventually," I said, holstering my weapon. I walked over to Victor, looking down at him with zero pity. "Wrap his knee. Call the police. Tell them the defendant violated his bail, attempted armed homicide on a witness, and tripped on his way in."

I turned my back on him and walked down the hall to the safe room. I knocked twice and spoke the password. Emily opened the door, her eyes searching my face.

"Is it over?" she asked softly.