I was sitting by Carl’s bedside when Lynn looked at her phone.
“Russ,” she whispered. “The news… all the boys. They’re all hurt or in trouble.”
She looked at me. Her eyes were wide, searching mine. She saw the exhaustion, the grief, but she also saw the calm.
“Good,” she said finally, turning back to our son.
That evening, I was home alone. Lynn was taking the night shift at the hospital.
The doorbell rang at 9:00 PM.
I checked the security monitor. Six men stood on my porch. I recognized Michael Estrada and Wallace Merritt. The fathers had come to collect.
I checked the timestamp on the camera recording. I checked the hidden backup server I’d installed.
I opened the door, but kept the heavy security screen locked.
“Gentlemen,” I said.
Michael Estrada stepped forward, his face purple with rage. He was holding a baseball bat. “You think you’re smart, Elliot? You think we don’t know it was you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, pitching my voice to be clearly audible to the microphones.
“You ruined my son’s life!” Wallace Merritt shouted, brandishing a tire iron. “Our boys are in the hospital or in jail because of you!”
“Your sons are facing the consequences of their own actions,” I said calmly. “Just like you are about to.”
“Open the door, or we break it down!” Felix Randolph screamed. “We’re going to teach you a lesson about messing with our families.”
“That sounds like a threat,” I said. “You are armed. You are on my property. I am asking you to leave.”
“To hell with asking!” Estrada swung the bat at the security screen, tearing the mesh.
I unlocked the door and stepped back.
“Come on in,” I said softly.
They surged into the hallway, fueled by entitlement and rage. Six middle-aged men who thought money made them tough.
They didn’t realize they had just walked into a kill box.
Chapter 5: The Fathers’ Sin
The first rule of close-quarters combat is to control the space.
Wallace Merritt swung the tire iron in a wide, clumsy arc. I didn’t block it; I stepped inside it. My palm struck his solar plexus with enough force to empty his lungs instantly. He folded like a cheap lawn chair.
Norman Barnes came next, swinging a bat overhead. I sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and used his own momentum to throw him into Lauren Stone. They went down in a heap of limbs and curses.
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