Chapter 8 - The Shards of Glass and the Hidden Weapon
The violent crash of the front window sent shards of razor-sharp glass spraying across the dining room floor. Lily shrieked in terror, her small body shaking uncontrollably in her red dress as Elena lunged forward to scoop her up, shielding the toddler’s head against her green sweater.
Detective Miller drew his service weapon in a fraction of a second, shoving Arthur aside and dropping into a tactical crouch near the sideboard. "Get down! Everyone get on the floor right now!"
Marcus scrambled under the mahogany table, pulling a stunned Clara down with him as the elderly woman shrieked in outrage. David hit the hardwood floor beside Maya, his hands instinctively covering his head as a heavy object thudded heavily onto the carpeted hallway outside the dining room.
For three agonizing seconds, the house was entirely silent except for the harsh, ragged breathing of the terrified family and the hum of the overhead light fixture.
"Detective," Maya whispered, her voice barely audible over the ringing in her ears. "Look by the hallway entrance."
Slowly, Detective Miller crept toward the archway, his pistol raised and steady. He edged around the corner, kicked a heavy object out of the way, and then lowered his weapon with a sharp intake of breath. He reached down and scooped something up from the floor, walking back into the dining room with a grim expression.
In his hand, Detective Miller held a heavy, professional-grade brick wrapped tightly in duct tape. Tucked beneath the tape was a small, sealed manila envelope bearing no return address, only a single handwritten name: Maya.
Maya stared at the envelope from her position on the floor, her heart hammering against her ribs. She slowly stood up, brushing fragments of glass from the knees of her dark trousers.
"Don't touch it, Maya," Detective Miller warned, holding out a gloved hand to stop her. "It could be rigged, or it could be a targeted intimidation tactic."
"It's not a bomb," Maya said, her voice eerily calm as she recognized the handwriting on the label. "It's an invitation."
Arthur Vance picked himself up from the floor, dusting off his expensive wool coat with an air of absolute indifference. He sneered at the broken window, showing no fear whatsoever. "Amateur hour," Arthur muttered, shaking his head. "Whoever threw that brick didn't want to hurt anyone. They wanted to send a message."
"A message to whom?" Detective Miller demanded, stepping between Arthur and Maya. "Mr. Vance, you are currently a fugitive from federal justice, and this house is an active crime scene. I suggest you start explaining who is trying to silence your family before things get out of hand."
Clara crawled out from under the table, her maroon blouse stained with dust and her hair coming unpinned. She glared at her husband with pure venom. "You brought this upon us, Arthur! The moment you walked back through that door, you painted a target on every single one of our backs!"
"Quiet, Clara," Arthur snapped, his voice carrying an icy authority that instantly silenced her. He turned his attention back to Maya. "Open the envelope. Let's see what our uninvited guest has to say."
Detective Miller used a pen to carefully slit the top of the manila envelope, sliding out a single sheet of heavy cardstock. He held it up so the light caught the text, and his face instantly paled.
Maya stepped closer to read the words written across the page. It wasn't a threat. It was a bank routing number, a physical address in downtown Chicago, and a single sentence that froze the blood in her veins.
May you like
The money was never in the Caymans; it's buried under the floorboards of the old boathouse, and your father knew it when he sold the property.
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