Chapter 8 - The Desperate Break-In
Humiliation is a powerful trigger. Later that night, long after the guests had departed and the caterers had cleaned up, I was sitting by the fire in my pajamas. The house was quiet, enveloped by the stillness of the mountain.
Suddenly, the security system chirped. A red light flashed on the tablet beside me.
Perimeter breach. Sector 4.
Jack emerged from the hallway, a heavy steel flashlight in his hand, his face hardened into a mask of pure focus. “Stay here. Lock the door behind me.”
I watched the security feeds on the tablet. Through the night-vision cameras, I saw two figures trying to pry open the reinforced glass doors of the lower-level wine cellar. It was Robert, and another man I didn't recognize—likely a hired thug. They were desperate. With no money and facing criminal charges, Robert must have thought he could break in and steal the artwork or my grandmother’s jewelry.
He didn't realize Margaret Vance didn't buy standard glass.
Robert swung a crowbar at the pane. It bounced off with a loud, dull thud, the impact reverberating up his arm. He dropped the crowbar, cursing in pain.
Before the thug could try his luck, floodlights illuminated the entire lower patio, turning night into day. Jack stepped out from the shadows, the flashlight resting casually on his shoulder.
“You’re trespassing on private property,” Jack’s voice boomed over the outdoor speakers.
Robert panicked and tried to run, but Jack was faster. Within seconds, Jack had the hired thug pinned to the gravel, zip-tying his wrists. Robert tripped over a decorative planter, falling face-first into the dirt.
I walked out onto the balcony above them, wrapping a cashmere shawl around my shoulders. The police sirens were already wailing in the distance, echoing up the mountain pass.
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“You really never learn, do you, Robert?” I called down to him.
He looked up at me, his face covered in dirt and blood from a scraped nose, finally looking exactly like the pathetic, small man he had always been on the inside.
