Chapter 4 - The Arrival of the Marshal
The front door of the penthouse didn't just open—it was overridden by an external federal keycard scanned by the lead tactical officer.
With a sharp click, the heavy deadbolts retracted, and the door swung wide open.
Four heavily armed tactical officers from the U.S. Marshals Service poured into the living room, their assault rifles raised, night-vision goggles flipped up, and tactical vests bearing bold yellow US MARSHALS lettering across the chest.
Paige stumbled backward, dropping her phone onto the sofa, her hands flying into the air as she let out a piercing shriek. “Don't shoot! Don't shoot! We’re just staying here! It’s my sister’s apartment!”
The lead officer—a tall, broad-shouldered man with sharp features, piercing dark eyes, and an expression carved entirely from granite—lowered his weapon just a fraction, though his posture remained tense and coiled like a spring.
This was Reid Langford.
The man I had sold the penthouse to three weeks ago. The federal agent whose privacy I had promised to protect by keeping the sale strictly off the books from my gossiping, intrusive family.
Reid stepped further into the living room, his gaze sweeping over the scattered suitcases, the terrified children huddled on the rug, and finally landing on Paige, who was shaking so violently she could barely stand.
“Nobody is shooting anyone,” Reid said, his voice deep, controlled, and laced with absolute authority. “Hands where I can see them. Right now.”
“I’m Marissa’s sister!” Paige blurted out, her voice cracking hysterically. “She said we could use the place! We just came in to get her things! You have no right to break in here!”
Reid’s eyes narrowed. He looked past her toward the hallway leading to the master study—the restricted zone containing classified federal intelligence terminals. He spotted the shattered tool on the floor and the deep, ugly gouge marks across the Level-4 biometric vault.
“You broke into a federal secure zone,” Reid said, every word dropping like a lead weight in the room. “You attempted to force open a classified government terminal. And you claim you’re the sister of the owner?”
“Yes! Call her! Call Marissa!” Paige cried, pointing frantically at her phone on the couch. “She gave us permission!”
Reid signaled to one of the tactical officers, who retrieved the phone from the sofa. Reid glanced at the screen, noticing the active video call running on a minimized window, connected to a remote IP address in London, England.
May you like
Reid stared at the screen for a long, calculating moment. Then, slowly, he picked up the phone, brought it up to his ear, and spoke directly into the line.
“Marissa?” Reid’s voice came through my laptop speakers, clear and crisp. “It’s Reid. I take it these uninvited guests belong to you?”
