Chapter 6 - The Badge of Corruption"You're making a mistake, Michael," Vance whispered, his voice dangerously calm as he pressed the heavy sole of his boot harder against my chest, squeezing the remaining breath from my lungs. "You should have stayed out of suburban real estate."
"You... you're working with them," I wheezed, the metal collar of my shirt choking me.
"Working with them?" Vance let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Michael, Jason is a small-time amateur playing in a high-stakes league. Do you really think a guy like that could afford a custom-built soundproof basement and offshore accounts in the Caymans on a mid-level contractor's salary?"
Across the room, Emily let out a terrified sob, pulling the blankets up over her head.
"Leave her alone!" I roared, trying to shove his leg off my chest, but he was like an immovable block of granite.
"Oh, the girl is safe enough—for now," Vance said smoothly, crouching down so his face was inches from mine. The smell of cheap whiskey and peppermint hung heavy on his breath. "She's our insurance policy. Just like Sarah was. Speaking of Sarah... she wasn't as cooperative as you'd think. She actually thought she could blackmail us with the police reports she filed two years ago."
My blood ran ice cold. "You killed her."
"We tied up a loose end," Vance corrected smoothly, tapping the butt of his service pistol holstered at his hip. "Just like we're going to tie up this little family drama tonight. You see, Michael, that house you and Sarah bought ten years ago? It was built on top of something very expensive. Something that investors are willing to pay millions to keep buried under a green, oily swimming pool."
Vance pulled a zip-tie free with his teeth, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent in the moonlight. "And your ex-wife was foolish enough to think she could cut us out of the payout. So we gave her a permanent vacation."
"And Emily?" I snarled, a surge of adrenaline overriding my pain. "What about my daughter?"
May you like
"Well," Vance smiled coldly, pressing the zip-tie against my wrists, "orphans are so much easier to reassign. Especially when their grieving father tragically loses control and vanishes into the night."
He leaned down to bind my hands—and in that split second of overconfidence, I didn't reach for my wrists. I drove my head upward with every ounce of fury I had left, smashing my forehead directly into the bridge of his nose with a sickening crunch.
