Chapter 7 - The Intruder at Home
The glowing screen on the dashboard flickered, casting a harsh blue light over Arthur’s strained face. The live feed from their smart home security system showed the quiet, familiar entryway of their suburban house—the wood-paneled hallway, the brass sconces, and the family photos hanging neatly on the wall.
Then, a heavy silhouette moved across the frame.
Clara gasped, covering her mouth with her hand as she leaned forward from the passenger seat, her eyes locked on the screen. "Arthur... is that the front door?"
A masked figure in a dark jacket stepped into the field of view of the hallway camera, holding a heavy crowbar. With a brutal, practiced motion, the intruder smashed the glass panel beside the front door, reached inside, and turned the deadbolt.
"No," Leo whimpered from the back seat, burying his face in Clara’s coat. "Our house..."
Arthur slammed his foot on the accelerator, spinning the sedan around in a screech of tires that left dark rubber marks on the asphalt. The car rocketed out of the industrial park and onto the empty highway, the engine screaming as Arthur pushed it past eighty miles per hour.
"They're inside," Clara said, her voice terrifyingly calm, though her fingers dug deep into the armrest. "They’re looking for the backup drives you hid in the study, aren't they?"
"I don't know," Arthur lied, keeping his eyes glued to the dark ribbon of asphalt ahead. The truth was far worse: he had hidden a secondary encrypted hard drive inside the living room wall safe—the drive containing every single financial record linking Julian Cross to the firm's collapse, and more importantly, the definitive proof of who actually triggered the fire five years ago.
"Arthur, look at me," Clara demanded, turning her body toward him despite the violent swaying of the car at high speed. "If we pull up to that house and those people are still inside, we are not going in. We are driving straight to the state police barracks. Do you understand me?"
Arthur didn't answer. He couldn't promise her the police. If the authorities got hold of that drive, Julian Cross would go down, yes—but the encryption keys were tied to Arthur's biometric profile, meaning Arthur would be spending the rest of his natural life behind bars right beside him.
"Arthur!" Clara yelled, grabbing his shoulder. "Answer me!"
"I'm driving us home, Clara," Arthur said through clenched teeth, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.
The suburbs rushed past in a blur of gray shadows and glowing streetlights. Within twelve minutes, Arthur turned the sedan sharply into their driveway, cutting the headlights instantly. The house was dark, save for a single, flickering flashlight beam dancing behind the living room window.
Arthur killed the engine. The sudden silence in the car was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic, shallow breathing of the children in the back seat.
"Stay here," Arthur whispered, unbuckling his seatbelt.
"Like hell I am," Clara said, reaching for the door handle. Before Arthur could stop her, she pushed the door open and stepped out onto the driveway, her eyes fixed on the broken glass of the front door.
May you like
Arthur scrambled out after her, but as they reached the porch, the front door creaked open from the inside, and a familiar voice echoed from the dark threshold.
---
