Chapter 3 - THE RED THREAD
Richard began to pound on the keyboard,
his movements frantic and erratic.
“Why won't it work?”
he cried out,
his voice cracking under the pressure.
I looked at Eleanor,
and finally,
I saw what she was holding.
Between her bound fingers was a small,
razor-sharp piece of glass she had broken from a nearby window earlier in the evening.
She hadn't been cutting her wrists to end her life.
She had been using her blood to bypass the biometric sensor on the external drive,
painting the scanner with the very DNA it required to unlock the override.
She had anticipated this moment,
knowing that her brother would provide the distraction she needed.
“She’s smarter than you,
Richard,”
I said,
my voice filled with a grim pride.
“She always was.”
The laptop screen changed from red to a brilliant,
piercing white.
The countdown didn't stop,
but it reversed.
The data wasn't being deleted;
it was being uploaded.
Directly to the Department of Justice.
Directly to the Internal Revenue Service.
And directly to the dark web,
where every one of Richard’s creditors would see exactly how much he had stolen from them.
Richard stared at the screen,
his mouth hanging open.
“No,”
he whispered.
“Everything.
It’s all gone.”
“Not everything,”
I corrected.
“You still have your life.
For the next ninety seconds.”
Eleanor managed to work the glass through the hemp rope,
the fibers snapping one by one with a dry,
straining sound.
With a final,
violent lurch,
she dropped to the floor,
landing on her feet despite the pain.
She ripped the tape from her mouth,
wincing as it tore skin,
but she didn't scream.
She looked at Richard with a cold,
hollow expression that mirrored my own.
“I told you,
Richard,”
she said,
her voice raspy and raw.
“I am not your property.”
She walked over to the desk,
ignoring the blood on her arms and the bruises on her legs.
She picked up the laptop and closed it with a definitive,
heavy click.
“The upload is complete.”
Richard looked at her,
then at me,
his eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal.
He realized finally that there was no way out.
No guards.
No money.
No leverage.
He reached into his waistband,
pulling a small,
concealed derringer he had kept as a last resort.
He pointed it at Eleanor,
his hand shaking with a mixture of fear and spite.
“If I’m going down,”
he hissed,
“I’m taking you with me.”
I didn't move.
My men didn't move.
Eleanor didn't even blink.
“Go ahead,”
she said.
“But you should know one thing.”
“What?”
Richard spat.
“The gun isn't loaded,”
she said simply.
Richard pulled the trigger.
Click.
Nothing but the sound of a firing pin hitting an empty chamber.
She had emptied it while he was sleeping two nights ago,
waiting for the right moment to show him his own impotence.
Richard stared at the useless piece of metal in his hand.
He looked up at me,
his face a mask of pure,
unadulterated terror.
“Arthur,
please.
We’re family!”
“We were never family,”
I said,
stepping into his personal space.
I took the gun from his hand and dropped it into the moldy manifests.
“You were a parasite.”
I turned to my men.
“Take him to the secondary location.”
“What about the warehouse?”
one of them asked.
I looked around at the decay,
the rust,
and the memories of my sister’s pain.
“Burn it,”
May you like
I said.
“Let the past turn to ash.”
