The rain did not slow. It hammered against the wide hood of my truck, against the slick marble of the Thorne family's driveway, against the aluminum bat Julian held in a knuckles-white grip.

The second-floor hallway was lined with oil paintings—portraits of long-dead Thornes staring down with austere, unblinking eyes.

I took the stairs three at a time, Marcus Vance close behind me, the heavy tread of his boots striking the carpet with a measured, professional cadence.

"Marcus," I said over my shoulder without slowing down. "Get the local force to perimeter the house. The father has three private security guards registered on his home carry permit. They aren't on the porch, which means they’re somewhere in the service wing."

"Already done," Marcus muttered, clicking his radio. "Team Two is securing the lower kitchen and the basement access. Clara's pulling the property blueprints from the tax assessor's server right now."

We reached the heavy oak doors at the end of the gallery. The brass handle was locked—not from the inside, but with a secondary deadbolt installed on the frame itself. A commercial digital lock, the key light blinking a steady red.

"Audrey!" I slammed my palm against the wood. "It's Dad! Can you hear me?"

A muffled voice came through the thick paneling. "Dad? Dad! The door... they locked it from the outside! Julian took my phone—"

"Are you hurt?" my breath caught in my throat, every nerve in my chest tightening until it burned. "Audrey, answer me!"

"My arm... he twisted my arm when I tried to leave... Dad, please, there are papers in here... they made me sign—"

Her voice was cut off by a sudden electronic beep.

Down the hallway, Arthur Thorne was standing near the top of the stairs, flanked by two men in dark gray suits. He held a small black key fob in his left hand, his face pale but twisted into a tight, desperate smile.

"That's enough," Arthur said, his voice trembling slightly despite his attempt at authority. "You’re in over your head, Marcus. You used an emergency warrant for a domestic dispute. Do you know what my legal team will do to your department by tomorrow afternoon? The wiretap evidence is inadmissible—"

"It wasn't a wiretap, Arthur," Marcus said softly, turning his body slightly to cover me while I examined the lock frame. "Audrey’s phone was registered under a private security umbrella managed by the State Attorney’s Witness Protection Unit. Under Federal Code 18, any distress call routed through that network is auto-authorized for immediate tactical intervention."

Arthur’s mouth clicked shut. He looked at the two guards beside him. "Get them out of this house. Now."

The guard on the right reached beneath his tailored jacket, his hand moving toward a leather holster.

He never cleared the leather.

Marcus was faster. He didn't draw his sidearm; he simply stepped forward, driving the heel of his palm into the guard's collarbone with a sickening crack. The guard dropped to his knees, gasping for air as Marcus swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing into a marble pedestal holding an antique vase.

The second guard hesitated, his eyes darting between Marcus's badge and the dark barrel of the carbine held by the tactical officer coming up the stairs behind us.

"Hands on the wall," the tactical officer barked. "Now!"

The second guard slowly raised his hands and placed them flat against the wallpaper.

I didn't waste another second on Arthur. I turned back to the digital lock, pulling a small silver multi-tool from my belt.

In my twelve years with the AG’s office, I hadn't just audited bank records. I had spent three years with the Special Entry Unit—the team that executed search warrants on cartel safe houses and corrupt state judges who thought steel doors could keep out federal subpoenas.

The lock was an entry-level SecurTech 500. It operated on an open circuit solenoid.

I jammed the flat steel blade of the tool into the narrow gap between the lock housing and the frame, twisted forty-five degrees to bypass the plastic tamper shield, and shorted the copper contact pins with my key ring.

CLICK-SPARK.