Chapter 4 - THE HOUSEWARMING INTERRUPTION
Inside the farmhouse, the party was in full swing.
Through the frost-laced windows of the dining room, I watched three strangers—friends of Claire’s from the city—drinking expensive bourbon from my grandfather’s crystal decanter. Claire lounged on the velvet sofa, laughing loudly as a man I didn't recognize massaged her shoulders.
I walked up the front steps, my heavy military boots crunching loudly on the porch boards. I didn't knock. I raised my boot and kicked the heavy oak front door open with a resounding CRACK that echoed through the entire house.
The music cut off instantly.
The laughter died.
Claire spun around on the sofa, her face flushing bright red with sudden, furious rage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” she shrieked, jumping to her feet. “You busted my door! Who do you think you are, storming in here like a lunatic?!”
The three guests froze, staring at me in my scarred combat jacket, my face cold and expressionless.
“You’re trespassing,” I said, stepping into the hallway.
Claire let out a shrill, hysterical laugh, marching up to me with her chin thrust out. “Trespassing?! In my house?! You pathetic piece of trash! The deed is signed, the county registry has my name on the title, and your parents are legally evicted paupers! Get out of my home before I call my uncle the commissioner and have you thrown in a cell!”
“Your uncle can’t help you now, Claire,” I said quietly.
I pulled the encrypted flash drive from my pocket and held it up between my fingers.
“What is that? Some more of your pathetic military junk?” she sneered, though a flicker of genuine panic crossed her eyes.
“That is forty-eight hours of high-definition video and audio footage recorded by an independent, federally secured surveillance network,” I said, my voice echoing evenly through the silent room. “It shows you extorting my parents, starving them, denying them medical care, and committing felony wire and document fraud with the help of Greg the notary.”
Claire’s color drained completely. Her manicured hands began to tremble. “You’re... you’re bluffing. The cameras were dead. I checked!”
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“You checked the dummy lenses,” I replied, taking another step forward. “You forgot that an engineer doesn't leave his family’s safety to chance.”
Before she could speak, the wail of approaching sirens began to tear through the quiet night air. One cruiser, then two, then three pulled into the farm lane, their blue and red lights flashing frantically against the snow-covered trees.
