Chapter 4 - The Empty House
Daniel stumbled out of the towering corporate high-rise, entirely completely broken.
He had lost his high-paying job, his massive equity, and his powerful reputation in the span of a single morning.
Sabrina had completely betrayed him, using his catastrophic downfall to effortlessly climb the corporate ladder.
He realized now that Sabrina had never actually loved him.
She had merely been sleeping with him to learn the hidden vulnerabilities of his client portfolio.
The freezing Chicago wind bit through his thin suit jacket, but Daniel barely felt the cold.
He hailed a yellow cab, his mind entirely focused on the only thing he had left.
He needed to get back to Evanston and completely destroy Claire for what she had done to his life.
He was going to call the police, accuse her of poisoning him, and have her arrested for grand theft.
The taxi dropped him off at the end of his quiet, tree-lined suburban street.
Daniel marched up the concrete driveway, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were pure white.
He jammed his house key into the front door, ready to scream until his lungs gave out.
He pushed the heavy door open and stopped dead in his tracks.
His voice completely died in his throat.
The sprawling, luxurious living room was entirely empty.
The expensive leather couches, the massive flat-screen television, and the antique rugs were completely gone.
Daniel walked slowly through the house, his leather shoes echoing loudly against the bare hardwood floors.
The kitchen appliances had been completely removed.
The dining room chandelier had been carefully unbolted from the ceiling and taken away.
Even the heavy velvet curtains had been stripped from the massive bay windows.
Claire hadn't just packed a suitcase and left him.
She had systematically eradicated every single trace of their nine-year marriage in a matter of hours.
Daniel ran frantically up the stairs, hoping to find something, anything, left in the master bedroom.
The bedroom was just as barren as the rest of the massive house.
But sitting directly in the exact center of the empty room was a single, cheap folding chair.
Sitting on that folding chair was a man Daniel had never seen before.
The man was wearing a sharp, tailored black suit and quietly smoking a thick Cuban cigar.
"You have a very lovely home, Daniel," the stranger said in a thick, raspy voice.
Daniel backed away slowly toward the door, his survival instincts finally screaming at him to run.
"Who are you, and where is my wife?" Daniel demanded, trying to sound brave.
The man stood up slowly, crushing his cigar out against the pristine white drywall.
"My name is Marcus Rossi, and I don't care about your missing wife," the man growled.
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Rossi took a heavy step forward, pulling a suppressed pistol from inside his tailored jacket.
"I only care about the five million dollars your consulting firm was supposed to launder for my family," Rossi said coldly.
