Chapter 4 - The Heavy Knock
The three of them froze in the cramped living room like statues caught in the flash of a camera. The knock came again—two sharp, authoritative raps that rattled the cheap latch on the front door. Through the thin frosted glass panel, two broad shadows stretched across the porch, cutting off the dim amber glow of the building’s exterior hallway lights.
Elena gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as she stumbled backward against the sofa, her furry slippers tangling in the edge of the rug. Malik didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the scattered hundred-dollar bills lying on the floor around his shoes. All of a sudden, those crisp green rectangles didn't look like rent money or savings; they looked like breadcrumbs left behind by a trail of deliberate crimes.
"Don't answer it," Elena whispered, her voice shaking violently. "Marcus, don't you dare touch that knob."
Marcus didn't look at her. He stood tall in his white tank top, his jaw set like granite as he stared directly at the frosted glass. The police radio outside clicked again, followed by a low, muffled voice speaking numbers that sounded entirely too familiar. It was the same badge number Malik had seen on the insurance form tucked inside Marcus’s bloodstained envelope just moments before.
"Open up, Department of Investigations," a calm, weary voice called out from the hallway. "We know someone’s inside. The car is still warm out back."
Malik looked from the door to Marcus, his chest burning with a rage so hot it felt cold. "You brought them here," Malik hissed, his fists clenching at his sides. "All these years, you stayed in this house, you didn't work, you lived off my labor... and you led them right to our doorstep."
"I didn't lead anyone anywhere, boy," Marcus replied, his voice dropping low and steady. "They've been tracking that money since the night of the insurance payout. I was the one keeping them off your back while you were busy playing the good son at the warehouse."
"My warehouse," Malik choked out, the horrifying realization finally clicking into place. "The place where I work... it's the same company, isn't it?"
Marcus didn't answer, but his silence was confirmation enough.
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Outside, the sound of a heavy crowbar sliding against the exterior doorframe sent a sharp metallic screech through the apartment.
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