Chapter 7 - The Home Invasion
Grant looked like a cornered, rabid animal as he stood at the top of the staircase.
His eyes were bloodshot, and his hands shook violently as he gripped the heavy black pistol.
I demanded to know where my father was and how he had bypassed our elite perimeter security.
Grant laughed wildly and claimed that Marcus Thorne had provided him with the security override codes.
He stumbled down a few steps, waving the gun recklessly in my direction.
He screamed that Marcus had completely abandoned him after realizing the shipping manifests were fake.
My husband was entirely ruined, stripped of his CEO title, and discarded by his new master.
He blamed me for his spectacular downfall, completely ignoring his own horrific actions.
Harris raised his weapon slowly, waiting for a clear shot that would not endanger my life.
I held up my hand to stop Harris, knowing I needed to handle this pathetic man myself.
I walked slowly toward the bottom of the stairs, looking directly into Grant's terrified eyes.
I told him that he was nothing more than a pawn in a game played by giants.
I asked him if he really thought pulling that trigger would somehow magically restore his bank accounts.
Grant hesitated, a tear of sheer frustration rolling down his unshaven cheek.
He realized that killing me would only guarantee him a lethal injection in a Texas prison.
I kept my voice calm and commanding as I ordered him to drop the weapon on the marble stairs.
His shoulders slumped in defeat, and the heavy gun clattered loudly against the stone steps.
Harris immediately rushed forward, tackling Grant aggressively to the floor and securing his hands with zip ties.
My father casually walked out of his private study, holding a crystal glass of scotch.
He had been safely locked in his panic room the entire time, watching the confrontation on the security cameras.
The police arrived minutes later, placing Grant under arrest for armed home invasion and attempted murder.
I watched with immense satisfaction as they dragged my sobbing ex-husband out of the house in handcuffs.
He looked pathetic, stripped of his expensive suits and his fragile ego.
Just before they pushed him into the back of the police cruiser, Grant turned his head toward me.
He screamed that I had not won the war yet.
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He yelled that he had planted a devastating digital virus in the Vance corporate mainframe.
He swore that if the criminal charges against him were not dropped by midnight, my father's entire company would be erased.
