I CAME HOME FROM SAUDI ARABIA WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE AFTER 5 YEARS OF BACKBREAKING WORK—AND FOUND MY WIFE AND SON STARVING BEHIND THE MANSION I PAID FOR WHILE MY MOTHER AND SISTER PARTIED INSIDE

"Why?" I asked, keeping my hands low, measuring the distance between us. Ten feet. A man with a gun at ten feet had the advantage—unless he didn't know what I was capable of.

"Why?" Richard chuckled softly. "Do you have any idea how much this land is worth, David? Bayside Heights isn't just a suburb. The state is running a $400 million commercial bypass right through this estate next year. The government buyout for this property alone is $12 million."

The puzzle pieces finally slammed together in my mind.

"You sent me away," I said, the realization burning through my veins. "You offered me that high-paying Saudi contract so I would leave the country."

"Of course," Richard sneered. "A dumb, hardworking laborer like you gets lured by $1,800 a month. It was pocket change! I manipulated your greedy, foolish mother. I convinced her to starve your wife, isolate her, and declare you legally dead after three years so we could claim the land under corporate eminent domain!"

"My mother sacrificed her own grandson for your money?"

"Gertrude was easy," Richard laughed. "Give a poor woman a pearl necklace and a taste of high society, and she’ll sell her own soul. She thought she was getting half the buyout. She didn't realize I was going to eliminate her too once the land deed was transferred to my holding company."

Richard raised the suppressed pistol, aiming it directly at my chest.

"It’s a shame, really," Richard sighed. "You work so hard, David. But in the end, men like you are just dirt under the boots of men like me. A tragic home invasion... a grieving mother in jail... a tragic fire that burns down the estate with the hero inside."

He tightened his finger on the trigger.

THWACK.

A heavy crystal vase shattered against the side of Richard's head.

He stumbled sideways, his shot firing wild and burying a bullet into the mahogany wall.

Sarah stood behind him, holding the jagged neck of the broken glass vase, her face pale but her eyes screaming with rage. She had snuck down the rear servant stairs in the dark.

"You touch my husband again," Sarah hissed, "and I'll cut your throat!"

Richard snarled, swinging his arm back to backhand her with the gun.

That was all the distraction I needed.

I closed the ten-foot gap in half a second. I grabbed Richard’s wrist, twisting it violently until I heard the distinct CRACK of bone snapping. He screamed in agony as the pistol dropped to the floor.

I didn't stop.

Five years of physical labor, five years of lifting steel beams in 120-degree heat, erupted through my fists. I slammed Richard against the marble pillar, driving my knee into his ribs. He gasped for air, blood spilling from his lips.

"You took five years of my life," I whispered into his ear, holding him by the throat until his eyes rolled back. "You tried to kill my son."

I threw him onto the cold floor. He lay there gasping, broken, coughing up blood onto the polished marble he had plotted to steal.

I picked up his gun, dropped the magazine, and racked the slide to clear the chamber before tossing it aside.

Sarah ran into my arms. I pulled her close, burying my face in her shoulder as she wept tears of true relief.