Chapter 5 - The Break-In at DawnBy 3:30 a.m., I had arranged for my absolute best friend, Sarah—the only person in the world I truly trusted—to come over and watch the sleeping children at my townhouse.
“Olivia, this is insane,” Sarah whispered furiously as I grabbed my jacket and a crowbar from my small tool set. “You’re breaking into your parents’ house in the middle of the night? If they catch you, your mother will call the cops!”
“They won't catch me,” I said firmly. “They’re staying at a hotel downtown tonight near Ryan’s asset lawyers—I overheard Mom’s phone location tag when she called. The house in the suburbs is empty.”
“What if the mob is watching their house?” Sarah asked, her eyes wide with panic.
“Then I’ll have to be faster than them,” I replied, kissing my sleeping nieces and nephews on their foreheads before sliding out into the night.
The drive to my parents’ sprawling two-story suburban home felt like driving toward a graveyard. The neighborhood was dead quiet, shrouded in thick fog. I parked two blocks away and walked through the back alleys, keeping under the shadow of the tall pine trees.
I reached the backyard gate of my childhood home. The house where I had spent years being overlooked, undervalued, and blamed for every family crisis.
Using the crowbar, I jimmied the latch on the glass sliding door in the patio. Snap. The lock gave way.
I slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind me. The house smelled of expensive candles and my mother’s perfume.
I navigated through the dark living room using my phone’s dim flashlight. There, hanging above the marble fireplace, was my favorite childhood painting—an oil canvas of an ocean sunset I had painted when I was twelve, the only thing of mine my mother had ever kept on display (ironically, because guests constantly complimented it).
I pulled the heavy gilded frame off the wall and flipped it over.
Taped securely inside the back wooden frame was a small silver key with a custom code stamped into it: KB-409.
“Got you,” I whispered.
Suddenly, the floodlights in the backyard snapped on, blinding me through the windows!
Gravel crunched outside the front driveway. Heavy footsteps were approaching the front porch.
My breath hitched. I hid behind the heavy velvet curtains just as the front door was kicked open with a thunderous BANG!
Three tall, burly men dressed in dark suits walked into the living room. The man leading them had a deep scar running from his ear down to his collar, and his eyes were cold as ice.
“Search the place,” the leader commanded in a harsh, accented voice. “Ryan Carter’s parents said he didn't leave anything here, but I don't trust those bastards. Find any paperwork, any flash drives, any cash.”
My heart was in my throat. It was Viktor Vance—the head of the Red Line Syndicate.
May you like
I pressed myself against the wall behind the curtain, holding my breath, clutching the silver key tightly in my fist.
One of the men walked straight toward the fireplace, pulling out a silenced pistol...
