Chapter 6 - The Race to the House
Richard parked the armored SUV two blocks away to avoid drawing the syndicate's immediate attention.
"Stay in the car, Maya, it is far too dangerous inside," Richard commanded, checking the magazine of his weapon.
"This is my house, and I am not hiding in a car while they tear it apart," I replied fiercely.
I ripped the bulky, ruined train of my wedding dress completely off, leaving me in a ragged, knee-length white skirt.
Richard looked at me, a glimmer of profound pride shining in his tired blue eyes.
"Follow my exact lead, and do not make a single sound," he instructed as we slipped into the dark alley behind my property.
We crept quietly through the backyard, noticing the shattered glass of my patio doors scattered across the wooden deck.
Inside the house, the deafening sound of sledgehammers smashing through drywall echoed terribly in the living room.
We crouched beneath the kitchen island, watching four heavily armed men destroying the beautiful home I had worked years to afford.
Liam was standing in the center of the destruction, pointing a flashlight nervously at the exposed wooden beams.
"Keep breaking the walls, the safe has to be hidden somewhere in the foundation!" Liam yelled at the mercenaries.
My mother suddenly walked into the room, holding a sleek black briefcase and smiling arrogantly.
"You don't need to find the safe today, Liam, because I already took care of the legal problem," she announced proudly.
She opened the briefcase and pulled out a crisp, notarized property transfer document.
"I forged her signature on the backup deed right after she ran away from the venue."
My heart dropped into my stomach as I realized they had legally stolen my home without even needing my consent.
"The corrupt judge approved the emergency transfer ten minutes ago," my mother laughed cruelly.
Liam looked incredibly relieved, wiping a thick layer of sweat from his forehead.
"Then the syndicate officially owns the property, and my massive debt is finally cleared," Liam sighed happily.
Richard gripped his pistol tightly, preparing to ambush the room and take the forged documents by force.
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Suddenly, a cold, heavy metal barrel pressed firmly against the back of my head.
"Drop the gun, old man, or the bride dies right here on the kitchen floor," a familiar, raspy voice whispered.
