Chapter 5 - The Ten O'Clock Knock
At 9:55 PM, the tension in the house was thick enough to cut with a bayonet.
I had settled Claire upstairs in our guest room, cleaning the dried blood from her lip and wrapping her bruised arm in a clean compression bandage. I gave her my old service hoodie to wear, its thick cotton swallowing her small frame. She looked tired, but the hollow, defeated look in her eyes had been replaced by a fierce, steady spark of survival.
"Ethan, they're ruthless," she whispered as I checked the magazine of my sidearm—safely locked in its tactical case in the closet. "Margaret won't stop until she ruins you to save Brittany's social standing."
"Let her try," I murmured, kissing her forehead. "Stay in this room. Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone except me. Understood?"
She nodded firmly.
I walked back down the stairs just as the grandfather clock in the hallway struck ten.
Downstairs, my mother and sister were sitting in the living room sipping herbal tea as if nothing had happened. Brittany was reapplying her lip gloss in a compact mirror, while Margaret nervously checked her watch every ten seconds.
"Ethan, darling," Margaret said smoothly, pasting on her best maternal smile as I walked into the room. "You need to understand that what happened tonight was for your own good. Claire was drowning us all in debt—"
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
Three heavy, authoritative raps echoed against the front door.
Margaret’s face lit up with a triumphant smile. She stood up immediately, smoothing down her designer cardigan. "That will be the couriers. They brought the final papers for the asset transfer. Sign them, Ethan, and we can all put this nightmare behind us."
She walked briskly to the front door and swung it open wide, expecting her hired muscle.
Instead of debt collectors, the porch light illuminated two uniformed Tennessee State Troopers and a tall man in a dark suit holding a federal folder.
Margaret’s smile froze instantly, her jaw dropping open like a broken hinge. "W-what is this? There must be some mistake. We called for private couriers—"
"Margaret Vance?" the lead state trooper asked, his voice sharp and formal as he stepped past her into the foyer. "I’m Trooper Hayes, Tennessee State Police. We have a warrant to search this premises in connection with wire fraud, forgery, and extortion."
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Behind them, stepping out from the shadows of the porch, came the two heavy-set men from Apex Recovery—only now, their hands were cuffed behind their backs, flanked by two more troopers.
TITLE: The Price of Blood and Rice
