Chapter 7 - The Home Invasion
Greg stumbled into the center of my living room, pointing the trembling handgun directly at my chest.
His expensive suit was torn, and his face was covered in dark bruises.
The cartel had clearly sent a physical warning before the final deadline expired.
"You are going to log into your corporate portal and wire the cartel their money right now," Greg demanded.
His voice was frantic, breathless, and completely devoid of sanity.
I remained seated in my armchair, carefully placing the framed photo of my children onto the side table.
"I cannot do that, Greg," I replied calmly. "The accounts are locked by the forensic auditors."
"You are the CEO, you can override the lock!" he screamed, waving the gun recklessly.
"If I do not pay them by midnight, they are going to kill me and Vanessa!"
"You should have thought about that before you stole money from a criminal syndicate," I stated coldly.
Greg paced back and forth across the shattered glass, wiping blood from a cut above his eye.
"You planned this," he hissed, finally connecting the pieces of his downfall.
"You invited us into Meridian just so you could freeze the accounts and trap me."
"I did," I admitted freely, leaning back in my chair.
"Because I know exactly what you did to Daniel's car, Greg."
Greg froze, the wild panic in his eyes shifting into a dark, murderous glare.
"Daniel gave me no choice," Greg growled, stepping closer to me with the gun raised.
"He was going to ruin my life over a stupid accounting error."
"So you decided to murder a father and two innocent children?" I asked, ensuring my hidden security cameras captured every word.
"They were just collateral damage," Greg spat viciously.
"I only needed Daniel dead, but your stupid kids had to be in the car that morning."
The sheer callousness of his words ignited a burning inferno inside my chest.
"Wire the money, Claire, or you will join your family tonight," Greg threatened, clicking the safety off the gun.
I did not move a single muscle, staring directly into the barrel of the weapon.
"You are not going to shoot me, Greg," I whispered.
"If I am dead, you have absolutely no way to access the funds, and the cartel will skin you alive."
Greg's hands shook violently as he realized I had completely backed him into an inescapable corner.
Before he could decide what to do, the bright tactical lights of three armored SUVs flooded my front lawn.
Red laser sights painted Greg's chest through the front windows of my house.
Marcus and a highly trained extraction team kicked the front door open, armed with suppressed automatic weapons.
Greg dropped his handgun to the floor, falling to his knees in absolute, pathetic surrender.
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I thought the nightmare was finally over, but my phone suddenly buzzed with a breaking news alert.
Vanessa had just gone live on a national television broadcast, crying uncontrollably.
