I came to visit my daughter, but her stepfather blocked the doorway. “She went traveling with friends,” he said smoothly. Her mother forced a smile. “She’s happy. Stop worrying.”

The echo of Victor's laugh faded into the damp, heavy air of the warehouse. He took a confident step forward, swinging the crowbar lazily by his side, believing he had the ultimate upper hand. He was a man used to intimidating people with his status and his aggressive posturing. He looked at me and saw an unarmed, aging handyman.

I didn't flinch. Slowly, methodically, I reached into the interior pocket of my jacket and pulled out my smartphone. I didn't look at the screen. I didn't need to. My thumb found the large, tactile button on the side of the device—a custom hardware modification designed specifically for my line of work.

I pressed the button once, feeling the double-vibration confirmation against my palm.

"No, Victor," I whispered, my voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls, cold and devoid of any fear. "I didn't trap myself. I trapped you."

Victor stopped, his eyes darting to the phone in my hand. He scoffed, trying to maintain his bravado. "What are you going to do? Call the cops? By the time they get out to this county, I'll have already dealt with you."

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, keeping the microphone exposed. The line was now permanently open, recording and transmitting every breath, every threat, directly to a secure server.

"Now," I said, folding my arms across my chest and planting my feet firmly. "Let’s see exactly how happy you are when my people arrive to tear your life apart."