Chapter 5 - The Trap Springs
The driver’s side door of the black truck swung open, and two tall men in heavy dark jackets stepped out into the rain. The driver had a thick beard and a faded tattoo sprawling up his neck. He walked up toward my driver's side window, wiping the rainwater from his eyes.
"Hand over the contractor and the drive, pal," the bearded man called out, his voice easily carrying over the sound of the rain hitting the metal roof. "This ain't your business."
I unbuckled my seatbelt, looked over at Evan, and said quietly, "Stay in the truck."
I stepped out of my vehicle into the pouring rain, shutting the door behind me. Standing at six-foot-two in my military fatigues, I didn't back down as the two men approached.
"You're in over your head, soldier," the driver sneered, reaching into his jacket pocket. "We were hired to clean up a family mess. Walk away."
"You were hired by Diane Mercer," I said, keeping my voice dead level as I took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance between us. "You broke into my house, assaulted my wife, and staged a violent crime scene to cover up a felony embezzlement scheme."
The driver scoffed. "We're private asset recovery. Your sister signed the authorization forms."
"My sister doesn't own the property, she doesn't own the business, and she didn't have the legal authority to hire anyone," I said. "Which means what you did in that kitchen two hours ago wasn't asset recovery. It was aggravated assault, home invasion, and extortion. And every second of it was captured on an off-site cloud server."
The second man paused, glancing nervously at his partner. "You said the cameras were dead, Marcus."
"Shut up," Marcus snapped, looking back at me with narrowed eyes.
"I'm giving you one chance," I said, my tone completely devoid of emotion. "Get back in your truck, drive away, and wait for the state police to pick you up at your homes. If you step any closer to this vehicle, I will treat you as an active threat to a military officer."
Marcus stared at me for three tense seconds, evaluating my posture, my uniform, and the absolute lack of hesitation in my eyes. He swallowed hard, spat on the wet asphalt, and slowly backed away toward his truck.
"This family is rotten to the core, man," Marcus muttered as he opened his truck door. "Your old lady paid us out of her own account. Take it up with her."
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They threw the truck into reverse, tires spinning against the wet gravel, and sped out of the gas station lot toward the highway.
I stood in the rain for a moment, letting the cold air clear my head. Then I pulled my phone out, dialed the direct line for the county sheriff’s department as well as the local Military Police detachment base, and requested an immediate tactical response unit to my home address.
