Chapter 17
Victor, ignoring his weeping wife, made one final, desperate bid for freedom. He backed away from the center of the room, his eyes locked on the heavy metal door at the rear of the warehouse, the loading exit that led out to the dense woods behind the property.
He sprinted toward it, his polished shoes slipping slightly on the oily concrete. He reached the door in a panic, grabbed the heavy iron handle with both hands, and pulled backward with all his might, expecting the door to slide open on its tracks.
It didn't budge. He grunted, bracing his foot against the wall, and yanked again. Nothing.
I stood perfectly still, watching his futile struggle. A cold, satisfied smile touched the corners of my mouth.
"You might be a genius at stealing money from old people, Victor," I said, my voice cutting through his panic, "but you really don't understand basic structural engineering, do you?"
Victor stopped pulling, chest heaving, and looked back at me over his shoulder, his eyes wide with fear.
"That loading door doesn't slide," I said calmly. "It opens outward. It’s a fire-safety mandate."
Victor stared at the door, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. Before he could push the handle outward, the heavy steel door suddenly shook violently from the outside.
"Sheriff’s Department!" a booming voice echoed through the metal. "We have the building surrounded! Step away from the doors and get on the ground!"
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Victor froze, his hands still hovering near the handle. There was no escape. The woods were filled with deputies. The driveway was blocked. His hidden office was exposed.
He turned slowly to face me, his tailored shirt ruined, his life destroyed.
