Chapter 9
Victor raised the iron crowbar to shoulder height, his knuckles turning white under the strain. He wanted me to cower. He wanted me to beg.
"Put it down, Victor," I said, my tone conversational, as if I were asking him to pass the salt at dinner.
"Or what?" Victor mocked, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "Your repairmen buddies are going to come and arrest me? The handyman mafia is on the way?"
He genuinely enjoyed that line. Behind him, Laura let out a short, hysterical bark of a laugh, though her face had gone entirely pale, resembling a ghost in the dim light. She was crumbling under the weight of her own guilt, trying desperately to align herself with the man holding the weapon.
From behind me, Emily’s small, shaking hands clutched the back of my canvas coat. She peaked around my shoulder, her bruised face illuminated by the harsh overhead light.
"They kept me here for four days, Pop," Emily said, her voice shaking but growing louder, fueled by my presence. "Four days in the cold. Victor wanted me to sign my trust over to him."
Laura stepped forward, her maternal instincts completely warped by greed and denial. "Emily, sweetie, you don't understand," Laura snapped, trying to sound authoritative. "We were doing this for you! We were protecting the family's assets!"
"By beating her?" I roared, my composure slipping just enough to let my absolute fury show. "By tying your own daughter to a chair like an animal?"
Laura flinched as if I had struck her. "I never touched her!" she cried, pointing an accusing finger at her husband. "I never laid a hand on her!"
Emily stared at her mother, her eyes dead and cold.
May you like
"No," Emily said softly. "You just brought him the belt."
The silence that followed those words was suffocating. It was uglier, heavier, and far more devastating than any scream could ever be.
