Chapter 4 - The Basement Trap
I backed up until my spine hit the cold copper pipes of the water heater. The Lenovo laptop was clutched tightly against my chest, its hard plastic edges digging into my ribs.
"Ryan," I breathed, looking at my husband. "Do you know what your father did? Do you know about Thomas?"
Ryan’s eyes darted nervously to Charles, then back to me. There was a flicker of genuine terror in his eyes, but it was quickly swallowed by a desperate, pathetic need to survive. "Nicole, just give Dad the laptop. We can still fix this. We can tell the police you were confused, that the slap was an accident... We can say you had a manic episode!"
"A manic episode?" I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that echoed off the concrete walls. "He murdered your brother, Ryan! Thomas didn't die in an accident. He was going to expose this family for human trafficking! Do you really want to be an accomplice to that?"
Ryan flinched, but Charles stepped in front of him, raising the tire iron.
"Thomas was a weak-willed traitor who didn't understand the bloodline comes first," Charles said, his voice flat, devoid of any human emotion. "And you, Nicole, are a cancer. You entered my house and thought you could dictate terms. You think a pretty little face and a marketing degree make you smart? You're nothing."
"If you kill me, the police will know," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though my knees were shaking. "I sent the security footage to my lawyer. He has instructions to release it if I don't check in by 5:00 PM."
Charles smiled, a grotesque, yellow-toothed grin. "Your lawyer? You mean Arthur Vance? Arthur and I go back thirty years, Nicole. Who do you think helped me set up the foundation's legal shields? He’s probably deleting your email right now."
A cold dread washed over me. I had trusted the family attorney. I had sent him the files thinking he was an impartial professional. I was completely, utterly alone.
"Now, give me the laptop," Charles commanded, taking another step forward.
I looked at Ryan one last time. "Are you really going to watch him kill me too, Ryan? Just like you watched him hit me? Just like you let him kill your own brother?"
"He... he didn't kill Thomas," Ryan whimpered, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. "It was an accident. Dad said it was an accident..."
"He's lying to you, Ryan! He’s using you just like he used Thomas, and just like he wanted to use me!"
"Enough!" Charles roared, lunging forward with the tire iron raised high.
I didn't try to fight him. Instead, I threw the heavy black ledger directly at his face.
It hit him square in the nose, sending a spray of blood across his shirt. Charles stumbled back, cursing loudly as he clutched his broken nose.
I didn't waste a second. I dove past Ryan, shoving him hard against the wooden shelving unit. Boxes of old paint cans and rusted tools came cascading down on top of him. Ryan screamed as a heavy can of white latex paint cracked open over his head, blinding him.
"Grab her!" Charles yelled, coughing up blood.
I scrambled up the wooden basement stairs, my chest burning, my legs pumping on pure adrenaline. Behind me, I could hear Charles’s heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs, his breath wheezing.
I burst into the kitchen, desperately looking for a way out. But as I reached the back door, the lock wouldn't turn. It was deadbolted from the outside.
I turned around just as Charles reached the top of the stairs, his face covered in blood, his eyes wild with homicidal rage. He raised the tire iron again.
"You're not leaving this house alive," he hissed.
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But before he could take a step toward me, a loud, commanding voice shattered the tension of the house.
"POLICE! DROP THE WEAPON AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!"
