Chapter 2

I found a clear spot among the shattered glass on the floor and sat down. The wall clock ticked. 7:15 PM.

Standard police response time shouldn't take more than five minutes—especially for a violent crime involving massive blood loss and missing persons.

Sitting in the shadows, I kept my eyes locked on the front door and waited in silence.

7:28 PM. A patrol car glided into the driveway at a snail's pace, headlights on but sirens deliberately killed.

Thirteen agonizing minutes.

A response time like that just confirmed my theory: the syndicate didn't just control the black market; they kept these uniformed dogs on a tight leash.

The car doors popped open, and two cops stepped onto the porch.

I messed up my hair with my bloody hands and stumbled forward to yank the door open.

"Officers! What took you so long?! My wife and son are gone, and there's blood everywhere!" Eyes red and voice hoarse, I played the part of the shattered husband to absolute perfection.

The lead cop, a middle-aged white guy, had a name tag that read: Barnes. Behind him was a younger cop chewing gum, named Hicks.

Barnes gave me a slow up-and-down look. His eyes swept over the stains on my old jacket and my oil-reeking shirt, flashing a glint of undisguised contempt.

"Step back, sir," Barnes said, strolling in without an ounce of urgency.

They stepped into the living room, their flashlight beams sweeping over the overturned coffee table and the pool of dark red blood. Real cops would have already called for forensics and taped off the scene. But they didn't.

Hicks practically stepped on the edge of the blood pool. "Looks like a real mess in here. What's your name?"

"Victor. Victor Thorne." I let my back slide down the wall until I hit the floor, burying my face in my hands. "Please... you have to find Sarah..."

"Calm down." Barnes pulled out a small notepad. "Records say you're an oil rig mechanic, right? Away from home most of the year?"

"Yeah, I just got off the bus. Was it a robbery?!"

"Robbery?" Hicks scoffed, kicking at the scattered accounting files on the floor. "Robbers don't usually care about a bunch of paper."

Barnes walked over and towered over me. "Look, buddy, we deal with these kinds of cases all the time. You're gone all year. Maybe your wife got mixed up with another guy who has a bad temper. They got into a fight, he roughed her up, and she took off with the kid. The blood looks bad, but maybe she just busted her nose. What do you think?"

It was a clumsy probe. They were testing the waters to see if I suspected the truth.

"Impossible! Sarah would never do that! She's a good woman! She loves me!" I grabbed my hair in agony, letting the tears fall right on cue. "The door was pried open! Someone broke in!"

Hearing that, Barnes and Hicks traded a look.

They had their confirmation. To this oil-soaked husband, it was just a random home invasion.

"Alright, we'll look into the lock," Barnes waved me off dismissively. "Victor, go to the kitchen, wash the blood off your hands, and get a glass of water. Let us look for evidence out here."

"Okay... you have to find them." I scrambled to my feet and stumbled clumsily toward the kitchen.

Once I crossed the threshold into the kitchen and hit their blind spot, I froze. The panic vanished from my face instantly. Leaning against the wall, I peeked out with one eye to observe the living room.

Barnes walked out to the porch and pulled out his phone.

The trap was sprung. He was calling the Capstone brass to report in.

I slipped over to the window near the porch. His voice came through loud and clear.

Even through the earpiece, I could hear the faint sound of a cello and the clinking of crystal glasses in the background. The guy on the other end was at a high-end venue.

"Officer Barnes," a smooth, steady voice answered.

Barnes's tone instantly shifted to absolute sycophancy. "Mr. Julian... good evening. So sorry to bother you at this hour..."

Julian. The CEO of the Capstone Syndicate.

"The Mayor was just proposing a toast to me, Barnes. So I hope you're bringing me good news." Julian's voice was ice-cold.

"There's been a slight complication. Her husband, the offshore rig worker, just got off shift and came home. He called it in."

"The husband?" Julian let out a soft chuckle. "Does he know anything?"

"Absolutely nothing. He's shaking like a leaf, thinks it's a burglary. He's sitting in the kitchen crying right now."

"Hmph." Julian's voice dripped with utter dismissal, as if discussing a pile of trash. "The woman thought she was being clever. Barnes, my freighter leaves port tomorrow. I don’t have time to waste on these insects."

"Understood, sir. I'll have him sign a statement and find an excuse to hold him for forty-eight hours to buy you time."

"Hold him? No. Bringing him into the precinct leaves a paper trail."

"Then what do you suggest...?"

"I'll have Marcus head over with three guys from the Wild Dogs. Have them bring gasoline." Julian sounded as casual as if he were deciding what to order for dinner. "Burn the house down to the foundation. If the drive is inside, the heat will melt the chips. If it's not, the fire will still serve as a nice little warning to that stupid bitch we have locked down here."

"But sir, the husband is still inside..."

"Then leave him inside, too. Say the perpetrators set the fire to destroy the evidence and the husband tragically perished. You boys at the station know how to write a report. He's just a bottom-feeding bug. Don't bother me with these trivialities."

The line went dead.

I stood in the kitchen. I didn't lash out, and I didn't smash anything. My heart beat slow and steady. My gaze was as cold as a newly sharpened blade.

Three men. Gasoline. Burn the house to ash with me in it.

The Capstone Syndicate's absolute arrogance was going to be the first fatal mistake they made tonight.

Barnes walked back into the kitchen with Hicks trailing behind him, both empty-handed.

I instantly bent over, resting my hands on my knees and panting heavily, looking weak and on the verge of a total breakdown.

"Listen, Victor," Barnes said, patting my shoulder with fake sympathy. "This is more serious than we thought. We need to go pull security footage from a few blocks down and bring back the forensics kit. We need you to stay here and guard the place."

"Stay here? But this place..."

"This is a potential crime scene, don't touch anything!" Hicks snapped sternly. "While we're out, you don't go anywhere. And leave the front door unlocked, we might be back at any time. Understand?"

"Okay... please hurry back." I nodded vigorously.

The two dirty cops briskly crossed the living room, walked out the front door, and drove off into the night.

They were doing a remarkably diligent job of clearing the slaughterhouse for the incoming hitmen.

I stood up straight, pushed the window open, and stared out at the dimly lit street.

The mask was off. The performance was over.