I switched my phone’s interface to the internal security suite. The cameras in the foyer, the living room, and the hallway lit up.
Claire was yanking furiously at the front door handle. It didn’t budge. Tessa was pounding on the window shutters. Marlene stood in the center of the living room, looking around like a trapped rat. Lily was huddled in the corner, clutching her burning arms, shivering uncontrollably.
I pressed the microphone icon on my screen. My voice, amplified by the high-fidelity sound system wired through the ceilings of every room in the house, boomed through the property like the voice of a vengeful god.
“Step away from my daughter.”
Marlene shrieked, covering her ears. Claire spun around, her face completely drained of color, staring up at the ceiling speakers.
“Elias?” Claire’s voice trembled. Her facade of cruel amusement had shattered instantly.
“If any of you take one more step toward her, I swear to God, the locks on those doors will be the least of your problems,” I projected my voice, cold and lethal. “The police have been dispatched. I am thirty minutes out. Drop the chemicals. Sit on the floor. Now.”
Brooke dropped the plastic jug of solvent. It hit the hardwood floor, spilling the toxic-smelling liquid across the expensive rug.
For a moment, I had them. The psychological shock of my omnipresent voice had paralyzed them. But I had underestimated Claire’s desperation, and I had underestimated the depths of her deception.
Claire looked around, her eyes darting frantically. She didn’t sit down. Instead, a terrifying resolve settled over her features. She looked at Marlene, gave a sharp nod, and then sprinted toward the kitchen—toward the basement stairs.
“Garrett! She’s heading for the breaker box!” I yelled.
“I’m trying to override the manual relays, Boss, but if she physically throws the main switch—”
On the internal feed, I saw Claire disappear down the basement stairs. Five seconds later, the lights in the living room flickered.
“Claire, don’t do it!” I roared into the microphone.
Lily looked up at the camera, her tear-streaked face twisted in terror. “Daddy…” she whispered.
Then, the feed froze. The audio cut out with a sharp hiss of static. The screen on my phone went entirely black. The words CONNECTION LOST flashed in harsh white letters.
Claire had killed the power to the entire property. The electronic locks would default to their fail-safe mode in three minutes, meaning the doors would unlock. I was 30,000 feet in the air, completely blind, and my daughter was locked in the dark with monsters.
The remaining flight felt like an eternity drowning in wet cement. When the Gulfstream finally slammed onto the tarmac at Bradley Air Force Base, the tires smoking, I was out of the cabin door before the stairs had fully extended.
Garrett was waiting beside a black, armored SUV, the engine already roaring. I threw myself into the passenger seat, and we tore out of the gates, sirens wailing, police escorts clearing the intersections ahead of us.
“What’s the status?” I demanded, loading a fresh magazine into my sidearm purely out of muscle memory, my hands trembling with suppressed rage.
“Local PD arrived on the scene ten minutes ago,” Garrett said, gripping the steering wheel tight. “They breached the perimeter. Paramedics are on site.”
“Lily?”
“She’s alive,” Garrett said softly. “But Elias… things are complicated on the ground.”
“What does that mean?”
Garrett didn’t answer. He just floored the accelerator.
We reached Oak Ridge Lane in record time. My normally quiet, affluent neighborhood was bathed in the chaotic strobe of red and blue lights. Four police cruisers were parked haphazardly on the lawn. Crime-scene tape was already being strung across the hedges.
I leaped out of the SUV before it fully stopped, sprinting up the walkway. A heavy-set officer, Lieutenant Harris, stepped in front of me, holding up a hand.
“Sir, you need to step back. This is an active scene,” Harris barked.
