Chapter 4 - NIGHT AT OAK RIDGEThe sound of shattering glass tore through the ground floor as the front door was kicked off its hinges.
I scrambled beneath the floorboards of the pantry, pulling the hidden wooden hatch closed over my head. Darkness enveloped me, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the rapid, terrified thumping of my baby kicking against my ribs.
Above me, footsteps moved with deadly silence—tactical boots trained for room-clearing operations.
"Colonel!" Ethan’s voice echoed through the dark house, devoid of his usual polished charm. It was raw, unhinged, and dripping with venom. "Did you really think a backwoods Virginia cabin would hide you from a Captain who specialized in target acquisition?"
Silence from my father.
THUD.
A sudden heavy impact echoed directly above my head, followed by the metallic sound of a gun slide racking.
"She’s here, Richard," Ethan taunted. "Give me the biometric flash drive for the trust, and I’ll leave you breathing. I’ll take Claire back, the baby will be born in a private clinic, and you can go back to reading your newspapers until you die alone."
"You violated your oath, Captain," my father’s voice rang out from the shadows of the hallway—not from the living room where Ethan thought he was.
A loud gunshot shattered the night—BANG!
The muzzle flash illuminated the cracks in the pantry hatch above me. A heavy body crashed into the coffee table. Glass shattered, followed by a grunt of agony.
"Clear!" a voice yelled from the front porch—a second man.
My father didn't answer with words. He executed a classic evasive counter-strike. Another shot rang out, followed by the heavy drop of a weapon hitting the floor.
"Ethan!" Margaret’s voice suddenly screamed over a tactical walkie-talkie on the floor. "Ethan, the federal marshals just hit the Greenwich house! They have the doctor! Sterling confessed! Get the girl and get out of there now!"
"Shut up!" Ethan roared into the radio, his footsteps heavy as he retreated toward the kitchen—right above my hiding spot.
I held my breath, pressing my hands over my mouth. Tears streamed down my face in the pitch-black darkness. Through the floorboards, I could hear Ethan panting, his tactical gear clanking as he searched the cabinets.
"Where is it?!" he muttered violently, tearing doors off their hinges. "Where is the drive?!"
Suddenly, his boot stepped directly onto the pantry hatch frame. The wood creaked loudly.
Ethan stopped.
The silence lasted three agonizing seconds.
May you like
Slowly, the hatch door above me was ripped open. Moonlight poured into the dark hole, framing Ethan’s shadowed face. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and frantic. In his right hand, he held a black tactical pistol pointed directly at my head.
"Found you, sweetheart," he whispered.
