Chapter 3 - Blood Money and Shadow TrustI unlocked the office door and stepped into the hallway.
Caleb was standing there, his hands shoved deep into his trousers pockets. When he saw my face, he took an involuntary step back.
"Where’s Dr. Vance?" I asked smoothly, resting my right hand casually inside my jacket pocket.
"He... he left right after pronouncing her dead," Caleb stammered, looking past my shoulder toward the baby sitting on the chair. "Look, Daniel, I know this is a shock. But Mother and I have been handling everything while you were off playing soldier. We even took the liberty of managing the estate finances so you wouldn't have to worry about legal bills."
"Is that so?" I walked past him, my combat boots clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor. "How thoughtful of you, Caleb. Tell me... how much did Vance charge to sign a fake death certificate?"
Caleb froze on the landing. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"The illegal gambling debt you owe to the syndicate in Chicago," I said, turning to face him. "Three point two million dollars. You thought emptying my military trust fund and liquidating Emily’s life insurance policy would clear your ledger, didn't you?"
Caleb’s face drained of color. He reached for his waistband, but before his fingers could even graze a concealed holster, I closed the distance between us.
In one fluid movement, I grabbed his wrist, twisted it outward until the bone popped, and slammed his head against the wood panelling of the corridor. His handgun clattered to the floor.
Caleb shrieked in agony, dropping to his knees.
"You always were slow, brother," I whispered into his ear, pinning him to the floor with my knee on his spine. "You spent eleven years drinking bourbon while I learned how to track predators."
"It wasn't my idea!" Caleb sobbed, his nose bleeding onto the rug. "It was Mother! She orchestrated the whole thing! She made the deal with Vance!"
"Where is Vance now?" I pressed my combat knife against the base of his neck.
"At... at his private clinic downtown!" Caleb choked out. "He's prepping the official papers tonight so the cremation can happen tomorrow morning before you could request an autopsy!"
Cremation. They were going to burn my wife's body to destroy the chemical evidence of her murder.
"Get up," I growled, dragging Caleb by his collar to his feet.
I dragged him down the stairs into the living room, where Margaret was on her phone, speaking in hushed, urgent tones.
When she saw me dragging her younger son like a sack of trash, she dropped her phone. It shattered on the marble tile.
"Daniel! Have you lost your mind?!" she screamed.
"No, Mother," I said, throwing Caleb onto the sofa at her feet. "I've just found my sanity. Stay in this room. If either of you moves before I return, the explosive tripwires I installed on the front and back porches will detonate."
It was a bluff, but the look in my eyes made them believe every word.
I pulled my satellite phone from my pocket and dialed my team’s covert tactical medic, Marcus.
"Marcus," I said as soon as he answered. "I have an infant at my estate needing immediate medical stabilization and a full toxicology screening. And I need a secure transport for a homicide victim."
"On my way, Cap," Marcus replied without hesitation. "Five minutes."
I turned back to my mother, whose eyes were darting toward the front door.
"You missed one small detail, Mother," I said softly.
May you like
"What?" she whispered, trembling.
"Emily was an investigative journalist before she married me," I said. "She didn't just record you. She uploaded everything to a cloud server set on a dead-man's switch. And in exactly thirty minutes, every police chief and federal prosecutor in the state will receive the video of you suffocating my wife."
