Chapter 4 - The Art of the Ambush
The afternoon air was thick with tension as we drove toward the city.
I was dressed in a new suit,
my bruises hidden under the fabric,
but the weight of them still felt heavy on my skin.
My father sat in the passenger seat,
checking his watch every few minutes.
"Tactics,
Samantha,"
he said softly.
"Logan relies on fear."
"Fear is a high-energy emotion."
"It burns out quickly if it isn't fed."
"When you walk into that room,
you are going to be a void."
"No anger,
no tears,
no explanation."
"You let the evidence speak for you."
"When he realizes he can't provoke you,
he will start to crumble."
We arrived at the law firm,
a glass-and-steel monolith that overlooked the harbor.
Sarah was waiting for us in a conference room on the 40th floor.
The table was covered in folders,
each one a different nail in Logan's coffin.
At exactly 2:00 PM,
the receptionist announced the arrival of the Millers.
The door opened,
and Logan walked in,
flanked by Brenda and Paige.
He looked tired,
his eyes red,
but the moment he saw me,
his expression shifted to one of manufactured relief.
"Samantha!"
he cried,
taking a step toward me.
"Thank God you're safe!"
"We were so worried!"
"Where have you been?"
My father stood up,
his presence filling the room like a mountain of ice.
Logan stopped dead in his tracks,
his eyes widening as he took in the uniform and the rank.
"Captain Miller,"
Logan stammered,
extending a hand.
"I'm Logan,"
"your daughter's husband."
"We've been looking for her everywhere."
"She’s been very ill,
sir,"
"a nervous breakdown..."
My father didn't take the hand.
He simply looked at Logan's palm as if it were covered in filth.
"Sit down,
Mr. Miller,"
my father said,
his voice a cold command.
Logan blinked,
his smile faltering.
Brenda stepped forward,
her huge ring of keys jingling at her waist.
"Now see here,"
she began,
"we are her family."
"We know what’s best for her."
"She needs medical attention immediately."
Sarah Vance cleared her throat,
the sound like a gunshot in the quiet room.
"Actually,
Mrs. Miller,"
Sarah said,
opening a folder.
"The only people in need of immediate attention are the three of you."
"We have a great deal to discuss."
"Let's start with the multimillion-dollar loans Logan took out using Samantha’s forged signature."
The room went deathly silent.
Paige scoffed,
crossing her arms.
"That’s a lie."
"Samantha signed those herself."
"I was there."
Sarah pulled out a tablet and pressed play.
It was a video from the kitchen,
recorded by a hidden security camera my father’s team had hacked.
It showed Logan holding me by the throat while Brenda held my wrists.
It showed him shouting that I would sign or I would never leave the basement.
Logan’s face went from pale to a sickly shade of gray.
Brenda’s hand went to her throat,
the keys finally going silent.
"That...
that’s out of context,"
Logan whispered.
"Is it?"
my father asked,
leaning over the table.
"Because the next video shows you dragging her down the stairs."
"The 'Military Rules' have officially begun,
May you like
Logan."
"And you are currently surrounded."
