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đŸ”„ VIRAL THREAD: "I Cut Open My New Couch Because My Dog Wouldn't Stop Barking... What I Found Inside Destroyed My Entire Life!" đŸ”„ / Chapter 6 / 8

Chapter 6 - Betrayal at MidnightMarcus gestured with the gun. "Hand over the ledger and the flash drive, Ethan. You're out of your depth. Your father died ten years ago in this very building because he tried to turn this book over to the Feds."

"If he died ten years ago, who submitted the furniture to the second-hand shop three days ago?" I demanded, holding the backpack tight.

Marcus hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. "The auction house logged it from an anonymous estate liquidator."

"No," I said, stepping forward as Jerry growled, his body tense. "An estate liquidator wouldn't know Jerry's specific military scent trigger. The ledger was sealed in thermite grease inside the armrest this week."

Before Marcus could pull the trigger, a loud metallic CRACK echoed through the silo.

The overhead gantry crane snapped shut, and a heavy wooden crate plummeted from the dark rafters above, crushing Marcus’s armed henchmen stationed in the shadows!

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Arthur Sterling tapped his leather-wrapped fingers against the steering wheel of his matte-black Bentley, staring at the imposing wrought-iron gates of his own estate. To the world, the Sterling name was synonymous with untouchable wealth, bleeding-edge tech investments, and a picture-perfect modern family. But as the automated gates slid open with a soft, expensive hum, Arthur didn't feel like a master of a universe; he felt like a stranger walking into a trap he had built with his own hands.

Arthur Sterling tapped his leather-wrapped fingers against the steering...

The sound hung in the air, rhythmic and deliberate—tap, tap, tap—reverberating directly through the plaster of the master bedroom's walk-in closet wall.

The sound hung in the air, rhythmic and deliberate—tap, tap, tap—reverbe...

The wind on the balcony was sharp, carrying the bitter, fish-heavy tang of the Boston Harbor. It hit Dileia like a physical blow, cutting right through the thin polyester of her service uniform. She shivered, though she refused to wrap her arms around herself. Doing so would look like weakness, and tonight, weakness was a currency she couldn't afford to spend.

The wind on the balcony was sharp, carrying the bitter, fish-heavy tang...

Marcus spun around in terror, firing blindly into the darkness above. "NO! IT'S IMPOSSIBLE!"

From the high metal catwalks above, a shadowy figure stepped into the spotlight of the crane light, holding a sniper rifle.

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