flash
My breath hitched in the back of my throat as the paper rustled between my trembling fingers. The file folder labeled WIDOWS wasn’t just a collection of documents—it was a graveyard. / Chapter 6 / 8

Chapter 6 - The Fall of the Syndicate

"I was," I said, standing up slowly, my voice echoing with absolute authority. "But when a father finds out his home has been invaded by parasites, he comes home early."

Brooke panicked, grabbing her purse and sprinting toward the front door.

She pulled the door open—only to be met by six armed tactical officers from the Columbus Police Department, flanked by Federal Bureau of Investigation agents.

"FPS! DON'T MOVE! HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!"

Brooke shrieked as she was forced to the ground and handcuffed.

Sheila began screaming, grabbing her chest and pretending to faint, but two female officers stepped inside, hauled her up by her arms, and slapped steel cuffs onto her wrists.

Dylan looked around, terrified for the first time in his life. "Mom! Mom, do something!"

"Shut up, Dylan!" Amanda screamed, her refined persona completely shattering into that of a feral, cornered beast. She lunged across the dining table toward me, her fingernails clawing for my eyes!

"YOU RUINED EVERYTHING! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO DIE!" she shrieked.

Before she could touch me, Mac stepped out from the hallway shadow, seized her wrist, twisted her arm behind her back, and slammed her face-down onto the mahogany dining table.

CLICK. CLICK.

The handcuffs snapped shut over her wrists.

Lead Homicide Detective Vance stepped into the dining room, holding a sealed evidence bag containing the vial of thallium that Mac’s forensic team had recovered from behind the kitchen spice rack twenty minutes prior.

"Amanda Vance," Detective Vance read, his voice heavy with cold disdain. "You are under arrest for attempted aggravated murder, child endangerment, conspiracy to commit murder, and grand larceny. You have the right to remain silent..."

As Amanda was dragged out the front door, screaming curses and weeping hysterically, she looked back at Ethan.

"You worthless little brat!" she spat, tears smearing her mascara. "You did this! You killed your father!"

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The burner phone in my hand felt heavy, like a slab of cold iron pulled from a sunken ship. Across the line, Marcus let out a breath that sounded like a low whistle escaping a pressure valve. Nineteen years of rust, nineteen years of school plays, quiet dinners, and ledger sheets—all of it dissolved in the space of a single heartbeat.

The burner phone in my hand felt heavy, like a slab of cold iron pulled...

The man in the back of the Bentley was not a stranger, though it took me three agonizing seconds to place the face behind the silver-trimmed beard. Arthur Vance. The reclusive billionaire shipping tycoon, corporate sniper, and my father’s oldest, most estranged rival.

The man in the back of the Bentley was not a stranger, though it took me...

The ink on the medical schedule wasn't standard printer black. It was darker, heavier, pressed down with the kind of deliberate malice that only a fountain pen could deliver. I stared at the signature at the bottom of the page, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

The ink on the medical schedule wasn't standard printer black. It was da...

Ethan didn't flinch. He stood up from the table, picked up his mother’s silver keepsake cup, and looked Amanda dead in the eye.

"No," Ethan said softly, his voice full of a strength I hadn't heard in years. "You killed yourself."

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