Chapter 2 - The Silver Bird
The glowing text message burned itself into my retinas.
My fiancée was not just planning to steal my dog.
She was actively plotting to murder me before the end of the weekend.
I carefully placed the burner phone back into the hidden compartment and replaced the floorboard.
I needed to act completely normal until I could figure out exactly who she was working with.
I walked downstairs and found Maria, our housekeeper, cleaning the kitchen counters with shaking hands.
Her three-year-old daughter, Sofia, was sitting on the floor coloring in a picture book.
"Maria, I need you to tell me exactly what your daughter saw last night," I whispered firmly.
Maria looked around with terrified eyes before pulling me into the large walk-in pantry.
"If Miss Vivienne finds out we spoke to you, she will fire me and deport my family," Maria cried softly.
I pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from my money clip and pressed it into her trembling hands.
"Nobody is going to hurt you or your daughter, but I need the truth right now," I promised.
Maria took a deep breath and called her little girl into the pantry.
"Sofia, can you tell Mr. Adrian about the black car you saw?" Maria coaxed gently.
The toddler looked up at me with wide, innocent brown eyes.
"The car had a shiny silver bird on the front," Sofia whispered nervously.
A silver bird with outstretched wings was the unmistakable hood ornament of an Aston Martin.
I owned a fleet of luxury vehicles, but I didn't possess a single Aston Martin in my collection.
However, I knew exactly who drove a custom black Aston Martin with tinted windows.
It was my trusted corporate lawyer and oldest childhood friend, Marcus.
I thanked Maria, told her to lock herself in her room, and walked out to my private garage.
I accessed the GPS tracking software installed on all my corporate assets, including the devices I had issued to Marcus.
I typed his name into the terminal, praying that my oldest friend had not betrayed me.
A blinking red dot appeared on the digital map of Chicago.
Marcus's car was currently parked directly beneath a notorious, abandoned slaughterhouse on the south side of the city.
I grabbed a heavy iron tire iron from my tool bench and climbed into my fastest sports car.
I sped through the rain-slicked streets, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.
I finally pulled into the desolate, crumbling parking lot of the ruined slaughterhouse.
The black Aston Martin was parked perfectly in the shadows, its engine completely cold.
I gripped the tire iron and slowly approached the vehicle, peering through the dark glass.
The front seats were empty, but the trunk was slightly popped open.
May you like
I lifted the heavy trunk lid and stumbled backward in absolute, paralyzing horror.
Marcus was lying inside, his hands bound with zip ties and a massive, bloody wound on his forehead.
