Chapter 2 - The Locked Door
Judge Vance sidestepped the flying wooden chair with surprising, remarkable speed for a man of his older age.
The heavy chair smashed violently against the drywall, leaving a massive dent in the floral wallpaper before crashing to the floor.
My right hand throbbed with blinding, agonizing pain that radiated like actual fire all the way up to my shoulder.
I clutched my broken wrist to my chest, trying desperately to process the horrifying fact that my entire life had been a lie.
"Who is Julian Sterling?" I screamed over the madness and chaos erupting in the living room.
My mother turned to me with cold, dead eyes and a wicked, unnatural sneer forming on her pale lips.
"He was your real biological father, a pathetic, wealthy musician who left you a massive fortune we rightfully deserve," she spat bitterly.
My biological father had apparently left a trust fund that legally required me to perform at the conservatory today to claim it.
They had adopted me just to control the endless stream of money, and breaking my hand was their final, desperate move to prevent me from succeeding.
Judge Vance pulled a sleek black phone from his winter coat pocket and rapidly dialed emergency police services.
"You are absolutely not calling anyone," my fake father snarled as he pulled a dangerous, serrated hunting knife from his pocket.
Ryan quickly sprinted to the front door, slammed it shut, and locked all three heavy brass deadbolts.
He casually pocketed the silver keys and stood in front of the only exit with a terrifying, menacing grin.
We were completely trapped inside the house with two violent men who clearly had absolutely nothing left to lose.
Judge Vance remained perfectly calm and popped open the latches of the black violin case resting on the table.
Inside was not a musical instrument at all, but a massive stack of legal documents and a heavy metal lockbox.
"If you harm Emily in any way, you will both spend the rest of your miserable lives rotting in federal prison," Vance warned them sternly.
My father tightened his grip on the sharp knife and took a slow, calculated step toward the older judge.
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"Nobody is going to prison today, because Emily is about to have a terrible, fatal allergic reaction to her favorite breakfast," my father smiled darkly.
My stomach violently churned as I suddenly realized why my cruel mother had so generously cooked my favorite meal this morning.
