Chapter 5 - THE STANDOFF
"Sarah, put that down," Marcus stammered, raising his free hand. He dropped the crowbar. It clattered loudly against the floorboards. "You're crazy. The war messed up your head."
"Step back into the kitchen," I ordered, my voice steady. My hands didn't shake. My injured leg throbbed, but adrenaline masked the pain.
He took a step back. "I just came to talk. We can fix this. Eleanor was out of line. I was stressed."
"You forged my signature, drained my hazard pay, and planned to collect my life insurance," I stated, cocking the shotgun. The mechanical clack-clack echoed like a thunderclap in the quiet house.
Suddenly, the front door burst open.
Eleanor rushed in, breathless, holding a heavy flashlight. "Marcus, did you get it—" She froze, locking eyes with me.
"Well, well," I said. "A family reunion."
Eleanor sneered, her initial shock replaced by aristocratic arrogance. "You won't shoot us. You're too weak. You always were. You couldn't even walk down the stairs without crying."
"You're right," I said. "I won't shoot you."
May you like
Red and blue lights suddenly strobed through the living room windows, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Sirens wailed down the gravel driveway.
"I won't shoot you," I repeated as heavy boots pounded onto the front porch. "Because Charles Vance has had the FBI on standby since Tuesday. Breaking and entering makes it a federal issue."
