Chapter 4 - The Hostage
Screams ripped through the backyard as the gun was leveled at Chloe's head.
She froze completely, her eyes wide with unadulterated terror as the barrel pointed right between her eyes.
“Don't move, Chloe!” my father shouted, dropping the iron poker to the ground and holding his hands up.
“Richard, put the gun down, there are hundreds of witnesses here!”
Uncle Richard let out a bitter, ugly laugh.
“Witnesses don't matter if I don't plan on sticking around for a trial,” he sneered.
He grabbed Chloe by the arm, violently yanking her against his chest to use her as a human shield.
Chloe whimpered, tears silently streaming down her face, ruining her perfect makeup.
I stood completely paralyzed by the pool, the scars on my arms suddenly burning as if they were on fire all over again.
I had sacrificed my body, my childhood, and my social life to keep her safe.
I was not going to let this monster take her away from me now.
“Let her go,” I said, my voice shockingly steady over the sound of crying teenagers.
Richard laughed, glancing at my scarred body with a look of pure disgust.
“You've already played the hero once, Maya,” he mocked.
“Look how well that turned out for you.”
“I said let her go,” I repeated, taking a slow step toward him.
“I know about the offshore accounts, Richard.”
The yard went deadly quiet again.
Even my father looked at me in absolute shock.
Richard’s eyes narrowed, the gun pressing harder against Chloe’s temple.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Richard hissed.
I was bluffing, inventing a desperate lie based on late-night true-crime podcasts, hoping to buy my sister a few seconds of time.
“Dad didn't just find the security tapes,” I lied, forcing total confidence into my voice.
“I found the ledger in your home office last Thanksgiving.”
Richard swallowed hard, his grip on Chloe loosening just a fraction of an inch.
“I memorized the routing numbers to the Cayman accounts where you hid the embezzled money.”
He stared at me, his mind clearly racing as he tried to figure out if an eighteen-year-old girl could actually destroy his entire life.
“If you shoot her, you get nothing but a prison sentence,” I told him, taking another slow step forward.
“But if you let her go and take me instead, I'll give you the numbers.”
Richard considered this, a dark, calculating look crossing his face.
Then, from the front of the house, the loud wail of approaching police sirens pierced the air.
May you like
Richard’s face twisted into a mask of pure rage as he pulled back the hammer of the gun.
“You little liar!” he screamed.
