Chapter 7 - The Firebombing
The burner phone slipped from Mark’s numb fingers, clattering loudly against the wooden floorboards of the cabin. The phrase echoed in his ears like a death sentence. The federal prosecutor’s office was firebombed twenty minutes ago. That meant Richard didn't just have local police in his pocket; he had reach deep inside the federal apparatus. There was no safety net left. Every institution they had hoped would protect them was either compromised or burning to the ground.
Mark dropped into the wooden chair by the table, burying his face in his bleeding, raw hands. The physical pain from the fight in the courtyard paled in comparison to the suffocating wave of helplessness crashing over him. He had thought he was being smart, playing the long game, gathering evidence while pretending to submit to Richard’s toxic household. But he had underestimated the monster he was fighting. Richard wasn't just a corrupt businessman; he was an apex predator who operated above the law.
From the back room, a soft, frightened murmur broke the silence. "Daddy?" Lily called out, her voice small and trembling.
Mark wiped his face hastily, forcing a reassuring smile onto his bruised features before walking down the narrow hallway to the cot. Lily was sitting up, rubbing her eyes with the back of her small hand, looking around the unfamiliar, dark room with growing panic.
"I’m right here, sweet pea," Mark said softly, sitting on the edge of the cot and pulling her into his arms. "I’m right here."
"Where are we? Is Grandpa coming to find us?" she asked, her blue eyes wide with a maturity no six-year-old should ever possess.
"No one is going to find us," Mark lied smoothly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her blonde head. "We’re on an adventure. Just the two of us."
"My arm hurts," Lily whimpered, pulling back her sleeve to reveal the angry, purple scratch marks left by Elena during the dinner party confrontation. The skin was hot to the touch, showing the early signs of a nasty infection.
Mark’s stomach churned with dark, suffocating rage. Elena hadn't just been "toughening her up"; she had been punishing the child for Mark’s quiet defiance of the family syndicate. He needed to get Lily to a doctor, but walking into any hospital within a hundred miles was signing their death warrants. Richard’s network of informants spanned every clinic, pharmacy, and emergency room in the Pacific Northwest.
"Let me look at it, honey," Mark said, gently examining the wound. He remembered seeing a first-aid kit in the cabin's rusted bathroom cabinet back when Sarah used to stock it.
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He carried Lily out to the main room, setting her gently on the table near the kerosene lamp. As he rummaged through the rusted metal box of supplies, a sharp, metallic click echoed from outside the front door. It wasn't the sound of a twig snapping or the wind rustling the pine trees. It was the unmistakable sound of a rifle bolt being pulled back into place.
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