Chapter 3 - The Knock at the DoorBefore Claire could process the staggering revelation, a sharp, authoritative pounding echoed against the outer apartment door.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Claire leaped to her feet, knocking her chair backward. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. “They found us! It’s Margaret—or the people in the black sedan!”
Daniel didn't panic. His expression hardened into absolute stone. He smoothly reached behind his back, sliding a heavy, suppressed semi-automatic pistol from his waistband, checking the chamber with practiced, silent efficiency.
“Stay behind the desk,” Daniel commanded in a low, steely whisper. “Do not make a sound.”
“Open up! City code enforcement and police auxiliary!” a harsh voice shouted from the hallway. “We received an anonymous tip about illegal squatters and stolen property at this address!”
Claire stared at Daniel in terror. “The police? How did they trace us here so fast?”
“They didn't trace us by accident,” Daniel said, his eyes locked on the heavy iron door. “That isn't regular police. Look at the shadows beneath the door frame.”
Claire peered over the edge of the desk. Through the gap at the bottom of the door, she saw the distinct silhouette of polished tactical boots—at least four pairs. Standard Chicago police officers didn't wear custom assault gear in residential tenement buildings. These were private enforcers.
“Mr. Han! We know you’re in there!” another voice called out, smoother and more menacing. It was a voice Claire recognized with a jolt of pure horror.
It was Richard Vance—the chief legal counsel for Bennett Restoration and Margaret’s secret lover.
“Open the door voluntarily, Han,” Vance’s voice purred through the wood. “Hand over the girl and the ledger, and we might let you walk away with your life. Try to resist, and you’ll end up at the bottom of Lake Michigan like Henry Bennett.”
Claire gasped, clapping both hands over her mouth to stifle a scream. Like Henry Bennett?
May you like
Daniel looked back at her, his dark eyes burning with fierce determination. He didn't look like a victim anymore. He looked like an executioner.
“They think they’ve trapped a homeless man,” Daniel whispered, a cold, dangerous smile touching the corner of his lips. “They have no idea whose door they just knocked on.”
