Chapter 14 - The Question
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Before Brandon could even cock his arm back to swing, the air shifted.
One of Dad’s men, a tall, broad-shouldered enforcer who had moved faster than my eyes could track, materialized beside Brandon. A large hand clamped over Brandon’s wrist with the mechanical, crushing force of an industrial vice.
Brandon gasped in shock, trying to yank his arm back, but he was completely immobilized. The enforcer didn't flinch. With a sickening, wet crunch, the man twisted Brandon’s wrist backward.
Brandon screamed, his fingers instantly going limp. The bloody hammer slipped from his grasp, hitting the floor with a heavy thud that made several guests jump.
Seeing the host disarmed and broken so effortlessly, the illusion of safety shattered. Panic finally erupted. Guests began rushing toward the kitchen, the back patio, and the side hallways, desperate to escape the nightmare.
"Nobody leaves," Dad said softly.
He didn't yell, but his men moved instantly. Every door, every hallway, every window was already guarded. Imposing men in dark suits stepped from the shadows of my own home, physically blocking the exits. A wealthy real estate developer tried to push past the backdoor, only to be shoved violently to the ground by a man holding a suppressed pistol at his side.
The guests huddled back together into the center of the living room, weeping, trembling, realizing they were entirely trapped in a cage of their own making.
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My father finally knelt beside me on the floor. His rough hands, the hands I had trusted my entire life, gently touched my tear-stained cheek.
"I'm here, sweetheart," he whispered, his thumb wiping away my blood. "Daddy's here."
