Chapter 6
The afternoon sunlight glinted off Marcus Sterling’s gold wristwatch as he kept one hand casually resting against the wooden doorframe, preventing David from closing it. The air between the two men crackled with unspoken threats. David maintained his calm exterior, refusing to give Marcus the satisfaction of seeing him sweat, even though his heart was hammering against his ribs.
“If you have a problem with my wife’s gardening habits, I suggest you take it up with the homeowners association,” David replied evenly, his voice steady and controlled. “Otherwise, I must ask you to step off my property before I call the authorities myself.”
Marcus let out a low, humorless chuckle. He shifted his weight, his sharp blue eyes scanning the interior of the house once more before locking back onto David’s face. “The authorities, David? I don't think you want to invite men in blue uniforms to look into what’s buried beneath your lovely pink-shirted wife’s gardening projects. Especially given how fragile your financial situation has been since you relocated from Chicago last year.”
From behind the living room archway, Sarah stepped forward into the foyer, her face pale but composed. She had heard enough. “Drop the corporate charm, Marcus,” she said, her voice cutting cleanly through the heavy atmosphere. “We know why you’re really here. You aren't looking for corporate files; you’re looking for Daniel’s insurance policy.”
Marcus’s polite demeanor faltered for a fraction of a second, a micro-expression of genuine surprise flashing across his features before he quickly regained his composure. He turned his gaze toward Sarah, his smile turning thin and predatory. “Ah, the grieving sister. You always were entirely too clever for your own good, Sarah. And look where it got your brother.”
David’s fists clenched at his sides. The restraint he had practiced all afternoon frayed at the edges. “Get off my porch right now, Marcus. Before I forget myself.”
May you like
Marcus slowly stepped back down onto the concrete porch, raising his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. But his eyes remained hard as flint. “You have twenty-four hours to hand over the contents of that box, David. If I don't have the ledger by tomorrow afternoon, I’ll ensure that the real story of what happened to Daniel in Chicago makes front-page news. And trust me, you won't survive the investigation.”
With that, Marcus turned on his heel and walked briskly down the driveway toward a sleek black sedan idling by the curb.
