Chapter 12
Victor’s face contorted into an ugly mask of rage and disbelief. He didn't want to believe that the blue-collar handyman had outsmarted him, but the reality of my presence in his locked warehouse was impossible to deny.
"You're lying," Victor spat, though his voice lacked its previous conviction. "You don't have a forensic company. You're a nobody!"
I slowly reached into my jacket pocket and raised my smartphone, holding it up so the screen faced them. A bright red icon flashed steadily in the corner of the display, indicating an active, encrypted broadcast. The call was already connected through my company’s proprietary emergency application.
"Everything that has been said since I pressed this button," I explained, articulating every word with crystal clarity, "is currently being transmitted live to my legal team in Seattle, and to the county emergency dispatcher."
Laura let out a strangled cry.
"My people aren't repairmen, Victor," I said, letting the full weight of my actual identity crash down on him. "They are paramedics. They are seasoned detectives. And they include a federal prosecutor who owes me a very large favor."
Panic finally broke through Laura’s denial. With a desperate, hysterical shriek, she lunged forward, her hands clawing wildly toward my phone. "Give me that! Turn it off!"
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I didn't even break a sweat. I simply stepped smoothly to the side, pivoting on my heel. Laura’s momentum carried her right past me. She tripped over her own expensive heels and crashed hard into a rusted metal workbench, sending a shower of old bolts clattering to the floor. She collapsed into a weeping heap.
Victor’s arrogance shattered completely, replaced by a vicious, cornered-animal desperation. "You have no proof I actually hurt her!" he yelled, pointing the crowbar at Emily. "It's your word against mine!"
