flash
The workshop air turned cold, tasting sharply of pine sawdust and old motor oil. My pulse hammered in my throat, rhythmic and heavy as a war drum. Thirteen years in Army intelligence had taught me one fundamental rule: never panic when trapped, but always assume the threat is lethal. / Chapter 3 / 10

Chapter 3 - The Barrel of a GunThe small silver revolver gleamed under the harsh workshop lights. Vanessa’s hands shook violently, but the muzzle was pointed squarely at my chest.

"You ruined everything, Emma," she hissed, tears of pure rage streaming down her powdered cheeks. "All my life, you were the golden child. The captain. The hero. Dad loved your uniform more than he ever loved me! And now you want to hand us over to federal prison because of some dusty old ledgers?"

"Dad loved you enough to cover up your husband's crimes for two months, Vanessa," I replied steadily, keeping my eyes locked on hers. Every muscle in my body was coiled, ready to spring if her finger twitched on the trigger. "You and Grant chose this path. You chose greed."

"Shut up! Shut up!" Vanessa screamed, her finger tightening on the trigger guard.

Before she could pull it, a heavy shadow slammed into her side from the doorway.

Harold—despite his age—had lunged forward with surprising speed, tackling Vanessa hard against the workbench. The pistol discharged with a deafening crack, the bullet embedding itself harmlessly into the wooden ceiling beams as the gun clattered across the floorboards.

"Got you!" Harold panted, pinning her arms.

Vanessa shrieked, kicking wildly, but Grant—nursing his shattered knee—crawled forward, grabbing Harold by the ankle and dragging the elderly attorney down to the floor. Grant scrambled on top of Harold, his heavy hands closing around the old man's throat.

"Get off him!" I yelled, diving across the room.

I tackled Grant off Harold, but Grant’s raw, adrenaline-fueled strength overpowered my injured ribs from earlier. He pinned me to the floor, his massive hands locking around my neck, cutting off my oxygen.

"Time to die, Captain," Grant wheezed, smiling maniacally as my vision began to blur at the edges.

The room tilted. Dark spots danced across my vision. I clawed at his wrists, but my strength was fading fast.

Then, a blinding beam of white light flooded the workshop.

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