Chapter 3 - The Shadow Army
The basement door was kicked open with a thunderous bang,
and four men in dark uniforms flooded down the stairs.
They moved with the precision of ghosts,
their suppressed rifles pointed at Irving and Sabrina.
"Secure the room,"
I ordered,
not looking up from Wyatt.
"Get a medic down here now!"
One of the men,
my head of security,
Marcus,
stepped forward.
He was a former Delta operator who had been with me for fifteen years.
"We’ve got the perimeter, Mr. Yates,"
Marcus said,
his voice devoid of emotion.
"The guests are being held in the living room."
"No one leaves, no one makes a call."
Sabrina was huddled in the corner,
sobbing and begging for mercy.
"Please, Abraham, we were just... we were just scared!"
"The debt was so high, we didn't know what else to do!"
I ignored her,
watching as the medic knelt beside Wyatt.
He began to administer a local anesthetic to the knee,
his face grim as he assessed the damage.
"He needs a surgeon, sir,"
the medic whispered to me.
"The bone is shattered in multiple places."
"He might never have full mobility again."
I felt a cold rage settle in my bones,
a weight that I knew would never leave me.
"Do whatever it takes,"
I said.
"Use the private helicopter."
"Take him to the Mayo Clinic."
I stood up and turned toward Irving,
who was now handcuffed and slumped against the wall.
He looked small now,
stripped of his tux and his arrogance.
"You knew my wife, didn't you, Irving?"
"You knew how much she loved Wyatt."
I walked over to where my late wife’s coat was lying on a workbench.
Piper,
Sabrina’s mother,
must have dropped it there when the lights went out.
I picked it up,
shaking the dust off the fine wool.
"You let your wife wear this while you tortured the man who inherited it."
"You're not just a criminal, Irving."
"You're a parasite."
"And I’m going to make sure the world knows it."
"Every business you’ve ever touched,"
"every bank that holds your loans,"
"every friend you think you have in this city,"
"they will all receive a copy of the recording I just made."
"By tomorrow morning,"
"the Palmer name will be synonymous with trash."
I looked at Sabrina,
who was staring at me with wide,
hateful eyes.
"And you,"
I said,
dropping the coat over my arm.
"You're going to spend the rest of your youth behind bars."
"You'll have plenty of time to practice your 'strategic realignments' there."
Marcus stepped toward me,
handing me a satellite phone.
"The police are at the gate, sir."
"They want to know why we’ve blocked the public road."
"Tell them there's been a medical emergency,"
I said.
"And tell them I have evidence of a kidnapping and attempted murder."
"But don't let them in until Wyatt is out."
"I don't want him being treated like a piece of evidence."
"I want him treated like a human being."
The medic and another guard carefully lifted Wyatt onto a stretcher.
He groaned,
his hand reaching out for mine.
I took it,
squeezing his fingers with everything I had.
"I’ve got you, son."
"The nightmare is over."
As they carried him up the stairs,
I followed,
leaving the Palmers in the dark of their own making.
The living room was a sea of confused faces,
wealthy socialites blinking in the glow of tactical flashlights.
I walked through the center of the room,
carrying my wife's coat,
my face a mask of iron.
They looked at me,
the "poor" father-in-law,
and saw a king they didn't recognize.
I didn't say a word to any of them.
May you like
I didn't have to.
The blood on my boots spoke for itself.
