Chapter 3 - THE HOUR OF THE WOLVESThe atmosphere inside the house instantly shifted from a bitter family dispute to a claustrophobic nightmare.
"Jane, call the police!" Eleanor panicked, rushing toward me and grabbing my arms with a tight, desperate grip. "Call them right now! There are criminals outside!"
I shook her hands off me with absolute disgust. "Call the police? And tell them what? That my brother is a murderer and a thief, and his loan sharks are here to collect? If the police come, Marcus goes to jail for two counts of vehicular homicide. Is that what you want, Mother?"
"You wicked, vindictive snake!" Eleanor spat, her eyes flashing with pure hatred. "We gave you life! We raised you! And you’re going to stand here and let us be slaughtered by mobsters?!"
"You didn't raise me," I said, staring her down without blinking. "You used me. My whole life, I was just the reliable daughter who worked hard so you could finance Marcus’s endless mistakes. Well, the bank is closed."
A loud, heavy knock rattled the front door. Three distinct, measured thumps that sounded like cannon fire in the silent house.
Richard backed up toward the kitchen, his hands trembling violently. "Jane, please. You have forty thousand dollars from the preliminary insurance payout. Give it to us. Just let us pay them off, and we will leave. We will never speak to you again. We will disappear from your life!"
"I don't have forty thousand dollars," I said smoothly.
"What do you mean you don't have it?!" Marcus yelled, his voice cracking into a high-pitched panic. "You said you had the file! You said Samuel had life insurance!"
"He did," I replied. "And yesterday morning, I wired every single cent of his payout—all two million dollars of it—into an irrevocable charitable foundation created in Penelope’s name. It funds legal aid for victims of corporate financial fraud. I don't have a single penny to give you."
"You... you what?!" Eleanor gasped, looking at me as if I were a stranger. "You gave away two million dollars?!"
"It was never my money," I said. "And it certainly wasn't yours."
The front door knob began to jiggle violently. Then, a sharp CRACK echoed through the entryway as a heavy boot kicked the wooden frame right near the deadbolt.
"Marcus!" a deep, gravelly voice yelled from the porch. "Ten minutes are up! Open the door or we light this place on fire!"
Panic exploded in the room. Richard ran toward the back patio doors, sliding them open to escape into the backyard, but as soon as he stepped onto the deck, a bright spotlight cut through the darkness, blinding him.
"Going somewhere, old man?" a voice barked from the darkness of the yard.
They were surrounded.
Eleanor dropped to her knees, weeping hysterically, her expensive linen outfit getting dirty on the rug she had sneered at minutes earlier. Marcus backed up against the hallway wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, clutching his head in his hands.
"Jane," Richard sobbed, creeping back inside from the patio, his hands held high in the air. "Please... tell us what to do. They'll kill us!"
I looked at my family—this pathetic, cruel group of people who had looked at my daughter's casket and called her death 'trivial.'
I picked up Penelope’s little yellow rain boots from beside the door, held them against my chest, and stepped back into the kitchen corridor.
"There's a panic room under the pantry," I said quietly. "Samuel built it when he was installing the home security system last year. It has a steel-reinforced door and an independent air supply. It can only be locked from the inside."
Eleanor’s eyes lit up with desperate hope. "Where?! Show us!"
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I pointed toward the pantry at the end of the hall. "Go. All three of you."
They didn't hesitate. They didn't offer a word of thanks, nor did they look back to see if I was following. They ran like rats toward the pantry, shoving each other out of the way to reach safety first.
