Chapter 4
For years, Victor and Laura had treated me like a failure. They loved the narrative they had built: Laura had upgraded from the struggling blue-collar worker who fixed alarm systems to the wealthy, sophisticated investment broker. Victor loved calling me "the handyman" whenever he had the chance, a petty attempt to establish dominance. Laura let him do it, perhaps because it validated her own choices.
They were completely oblivious to reality. They didn't know about the forty-two million dollar buyout. They didn't know that my "handyman" skills were currently employed by federal prosecutors to untangle complex financial frauds and digital extortion rings. I let them believe the lie because my ego didn't require Victor Hale's validation. But right now, playing the part was my best tactical advantage.
I dropped my shoulders, adopting the posture of a defeated, embarrassed man. I looked down at my worn boots and let out a heavy sigh.
"Alright," I mumbled, stepping backward off the porch. "I guess... I guess I'll just wait for her to call me. Sorry to bother you both."
Victor chuckled, a deeply arrogant sound. "That’s right," he said, already beginning to close the door. "Go home, Daniel. We'll tell her you stopped by."
I turned my back to them and began walking slowly toward my truck. The door clicked shut behind me. I reached the driver's side door and put my hand on the handle.
Then, the wind shifted.
It blew across the property from the backyard, carrying the scent of dry leaves and pine. But underneath that, it carried a sound. From the old, detached warehouse situated about fifty yards behind the main house, a weak, metallic clang echoed through the air. It sounded like someone striking a hollow pipe.
I froze.
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Seconds later, a muffled, desperate cry followed the metallic sound. It was faint, barely audible over the rustling leaves, but it struck my heart with the force of a sledgehammer.
It was my daughter’s cry.
