Chapter 11
The muffled, concussive thump of a small, precision-placed explosive charge shook the foundations of the house before the sound could even fully register in anyone's ears. Plaster rained down from the ceiling in a choking white cloud, coating the ruined birthday cake and the scattered balloons in a thick layer of dust.
"Move! Move! Move!" the police officer yelled, shoving Laura and Iris down the back hallway toward the kitchen exit with frantic urgency.
Uncle Greg scrambled behind them on all fours, sobbing hysterically as he crawled over the shattered shards of glass and blue frosting. David, paralyzed by sheer cowardice, remained frozen on the floor near the sofa until one of the backup officers grabbed him by the collar of his expensive shirt and dragged him bodily toward the back door like a sack of garbage.
Laura kept one arm locked firmly around Iris's waist, shielding her daughter's body as they burst through the back screen door into the cool night air of the backyard. The acrid smell of smoke and pulverized drywall filled their lungs, making them cough violently.
They tumbled out onto the overgrown lawn just as a second, louder explosion echoed from the front porch. The front pillars of the house splintered and gave way, sending the roofline sagging heavily toward the ground.
Flashing red and blue lights from at least four more police cruisers illuminated the backyard now, casting chaotic strobes across the rusted swing set and the overgrown tomato garden. Additional officers had established a perimeter along the fence line, their service weapons drawn as they shouted commands into their radios.
Laura pulled Iris down behind the relative safety of an old wooden tool shed, holding her tight against the damp grass.
"Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" Laura asked breathlessly, frantically checking her daughter's arms and face for any new injuries.
"I'm fine, Mom. Just... just bruised," Iris whispered, pointing past the side of the house toward the street. "Look."
From behind the cover of the tool shed, Laura peered out at the front yard. The industrial bulldozers Viktor had brought weren't just parked on the street anymore; their steel blades were lowered, slowly grinding against the front lawn, tearing up the grass and flowerbeds that Laura's parents had spent decades cultivating.
Viktor stood near the hood of a sleek black sedan parked at the curb, watching the partial demolition with the detached air of a connoisseur admiring a terrible painting. He didn't run when the police shouted warnings through their megaphones; he simply tipped his fedora slightly in their direction, stepped into the car, and closed the door.
The black sedan sped away into the night, leaving the heavy construction equipment idling loudly on the ruined lawn.
The lead officer rushed over to the tool shed, panting heavily, his face etched with frustration.
"They got away," the officer muttered, pressing a hand to his tactical vest. "Our cruisers are blocked by an unmarked semi-truck parked sideways down the block. We can't pursue until the road is cleared."
David was pushed roughly onto the grass nearby by the backup officer who had dragged him out. He looked up, his tailored shirt ruined, his face smeared with dust and frosting, glaring at Laura with pure malice.
"You ruined everything, Laura," David hissed, spitting a mouthful of dirt onto the lawn. "If you had just let me sign the papers quietly, none of this would have happened. Now we're all homeless."
Laura slowly stood up from the damp grass, leaving Iris safely behind the shed. She walked over to where her brother sat cowering in the dirt, her eyes burning with an intense, quiet fury that made even the police officer step back a pace.
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"We aren't homeless yet, David," Laura said, her voice dangerously calm as she looked down at the man who had tried to sell their lives for a paycheck. "And you aren't going to a motel. You're going to a jail cell."
Before David could reply, a blinding searchlight from a police helicopter sweeping low overhead illuminated a heavy steel lockbox half-buried in the freshly churned earth near the garden fence—a box David must have dropped when the first explosion went off.
