Chapter 3 - The Uninvited Guest
The figure stood in the threshold, swaying. As the wind died down for a fraction of a second, the person collapsed. Richard rushed forward, his poker raised, only to see a woman in a heavy parka. It was Sarah, Claire’s neighbor from across the street.
"Sarah!" Richard cried, grabbing her arm. She was frozen, her face numb.
"He... he did it to me too," she stammered, shivering violently. "He was lurking in the woods, Richard. He cut the power to my house first. I saw him watching your daughter’s place. I tried to come over, but I fell in the drift."
Richard looked back at the basement door. The pounding had stopped.
"He’s in the basement," Richard said, his voice tight. "He’s got my daughter and grandson down there."
"He's not just a thief, Richard," Sarah whispered, clutching his sleeve. "I saw him talking to someone on his phone earlier. He called them 'investors.' He was liquidating everything. Claire wasn't just sick; she was a witness."
The realization hit Richard like a physical blow. This wasn't a domestic dispute gone wrong; it was a cold, calculated crime. Mark hadn't just been a bad husband; he was a criminal who had been playing a long game, and Claire had stumbled upon the truth.
Richard turned to the kitchen. He could hear the basement door creaking as Mark worked to widen the hole. Richard knew he couldn't just hold the door. He had to act.
"Sarah, get to the bathroom. Lock the door. If anyone comes in that isn't the police, you stay silent. Do you understand?"
She nodded, her eyes wide with terror.
Richard moved back to the kitchen, but he didn't head for the basement door. He went to the garage entrance. He needed something stronger than a poker. He grabbed his toolbox from the back of his truck, pulling out a heavy-duty bolt cutter and a long, serrated pry bar.
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He didn't go to the door. He went to the basement window—the one he had installed himself. He knew the latch was old and stuck. If he could get outside and pull the grate off, he could create a distraction.
He opened the garage door, the freezing air biting into his skin like a thousand needles. He waded through the waist-high snow toward the side of the house.
