Chapter 2 - The Hostage
The collective gasp from the family sucked all the remaining oxygen out of the dining room.
Gene pointed the trembling silver barrel directly at Brandon’s chest, her eyes wide and unblinking.
I instinctively grabbed Holly and pulled her entirely behind my body, shielding her from the absolute madness unfolding before us.
The little dog beneath the table whimpered and scrambled desperately toward the kitchen.
Brandon did not raise his hands, nor did he break eye contact with the woman who had raised him.
He calmly told her that shooting him in front of twenty witnesses would not magically put the millions of dollars back into the trust fund.
Gene laughed wildly, a terrifying sound that echoed against the pine garlands framing the doorway.
She claimed that nobody in this room would dare testify against her if they ever wanted to see a dime of their money again.
One of Brandon’s uncles tried to step forward to reason with her, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.
Gene immediately swung the gun toward him and fired a warning shot directly into the antique chandelier.
Shattered crystal rained down onto the untouched cinnamon rolls and silver napkin rings.
Several aunts screamed and dropped to the floor, covering their heads in absolute terror.
Gene demanded that Brandon hand over the brass key and his cell phone immediately.
I slowly reached into my own pocket, my fingers desperately searching for the cold glass of my phone screen.
I knew I had to text 911 before Gene realized I still had a way to contact the outside world.
I typed the numbers blindly, praying my thumb was hitting the correct sequence of buttons in the dark fabric of my dress.
Just as I pressed the send button, the phone emitted a loud, unmistakable chime indicating a failed message.
Gene snapped her head toward me, a wicked, victorious smile spreading across her face.
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She proudly announced that she had activated a military-grade cell service jammer the moment the doors locked.
She walked slowly around the long dining table, the gun now pointed directly at my seven-year-old daughter.
