“Open the door!” Garrick roared, his voice thick with unbridled rage. “I know she’s in there with you! You think you can play games with my life? You think you can ruin me?”

Inside, the house was utterly silent. Ethan stood to my left, his weapon drawn and held at low ready, gesturing for his agents to stack up along the interior wall. I gave Ethan a subtle nod, taking a deep, controlled breath. I reached for the brass deadbolt, turned it slowly, and pulled the front door wide open.

Garrick raised the firearm instantly, pointing the barrel straight at my chest. His knuckles were white against the grip, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

“You made a massive mistake getting involved,” Garrick sneered, his chest heaving as he leaned forward, trying to use his height to intimidate me. “Where is she? Tell me where Clara is right now, or I swear to God, neither of you walks away from this. I run things, not you. You’re just a glorified paper-pusher.”

I stood perfectly still, my eyes fixed on his. I didn’t flinch, step back, or raise my hands in panic. The absolute lack of fear in my expression visibly caught him off guard, causing his grip on the weapon to waver for a fraction of a second.

“Garrick,” I said, my voice steady, quiet, and devoid of any emotion. “You spent months convincing my mother that she was weak and that you were untouchable. But you made one fatal error.”

His eyes narrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“You never bothered to ask what kind of government administration I used to do.”

Before he could process my words, I stepped smoothly back from the threshold and raised my right hand.

“Federal agents! Drop the weapon! Drop it now!”

Ethan’s voice thundered through the doorway with authority. In a split second, four armed federal agents moved into the entryway, their tactical gear imposing and their weapons trained squarely on Garrick. Red targeting lasers dotted his chest and forehead.

The shift in power was instantaneous and total.

Garrick’s face drained of all color. The smug, sadistic confidence that had sustained him for months evaporated, replaced by absolute terror. His eyes darted wildly from the badges pinned to the agents’ vests to the heavy tactical gear, realizing instantly that he had walked directly into a meticulously planned trap. His mouth opened, but no words came out. The hand holding the firearm began to shake violently.

“Drop the gun, Garrick! On the ground! Face down! Now!” Ethan commanded, taking a decisive step forward.

Garrick’s knees buckled. The weapon slipped from his trembling fingers, clattering uselessly onto the welcome mat at my feet. He collapsed onto his knees, raising his hands trembling into the air. Within seconds, two agents moved in, forcing him face-down onto the concrete porch, securing his wrists tightly behind his back with heavy plastic zip-ties.