Chapter 5 - The Knock at the Door
The second kick against the front door was even harder, splintering the old cedar trim around the lock and sending wood chips flying across the entryway floorboards.
"Back! Get back from the threshold!" Ortiz barked, drawing her service pistol and dropping into a tactical crouch behind the heavy oak dining table.
Kyle scrambled backward, tripping over a rug before catching himself and diving behind the sofa. I cocked the Browning shotgun, the metallic chack-chack echoing loud and clear in the darkened hallway as I stepped sideways into the shadows beside the stone fireplace.
Bang!
The deadbolt housing finally sheared away completely, and the front door swung inward, crashing against the interior wall.
A tall figure stepped through the threshold, framed by the pale, ambient glow of the stormy twilight outside. He wasn't wearing a ski mask or tactical gear. He wore an expensive charcoal wool overcoat, his silver-streaked hair neatly combed, a faint, mocking smile playing across his lips as he casually flicked a speck of rain off his lapel.
Marcus Vance.
He looked around the darkened foyer as if he were checking into a five-star hotel room rather than breaching a besieged home.
"Really, Uncle Arthur?" Marcus’s voice drifted smoothly into the living room, rich with condescension. "Greeting your favorite nephew with a shotgun? I thought Thomas taught you better hospitality than that."
"Step back outside, Marcus," I called out from the shadows of the fireplace, keeping the double barrel leveled at the center of his chest. "You're trespassing on private property, and you've already triggered a federal felony warrant by blowing up the county substation."
Marcus chuckled softly, taking two slow, deliberate steps into the foyer. He didn't look at the gun barrels pointing at him; instead, his slate-gray eyes swept the room until they landed on Detective Ortiz crouching behind the table.
"Ah, county law," Marcus murmured, shaking his head. "Detective Ortiz, isn't it? You really should check your jurisdiction before you play hero in a family dispute. That warrant you think you have? Jurisdiction expired twenty minutes ago when the county judge signed an emergency injunction transferring all disputed riparian land titles to a corporate receivership managed by Sterling Capital."
Ortiz didn't lower her weapon, but her brow furrowed slightly. "That's impossible. A judge can't issue an ex parte injunction without a formal hearing—"
"When you own the banks, Detective, judges tend to be very accommodating during weekend emergencies," Marcus interrupted smoothly. He reached inside his overcoat, his fingers sliding slowly toward his breast pocket. "Now, I'm going to make this very simple for everyone. You hand over the steel document box containing Thomas's private ledgers, and Mr. Hale and your accountant son-in-law here walk away unharmed. We drop the embezzlement charges against Rachel, let her plead to a minor misdemeanor, and everyone goes home for dinner."
"And if we say no?" I asked, my finger tightening slightly on the front trigger of the Browning.
Marcus's smile faded, replaced by a cold, predatory glare. He pulled a small, heavy black device from his pocket—a dead-man's switch wired with a blinking green LED light.
May you like
"If you say no," Marcus whispered, his voice dropping an octave into pure ice, "the three propane tanks buried beneath your lakeside boathouse—which happens to be directly connected to the main gas line of this house—will detonate in exactly forty-five seconds, turning this entire historic cabin into a crater."
He pressed his thumb against the side of the device, and the blinking green light suddenly turned a solid, terrifying red.
