Chapter 7 - The Confrontation
Marcus didn't knock. He tested the brass doorknob, found it locked, and threw his entire shoulder against the heavy wood. The deadbolt splintered through the cedar frame with a violent crack, and the door swung open, letting in a blast of freezing coastal wind and driving rain.
Maya stood in the center of the living room, illuminated only by the fire’s embers. Her posture was erect, her chin lifted, her right hand resting firmly inside the pocket of her wool cardigan. Behind her, in the shadow of the brick hearth, Clara stirred but remained quiet.
“Look at you,” Marcus panted, wiping rainwater and sweat from his face. His coat was drenched, his eyes hollow and manic. “Playing the martyr in a shack while my life burns to the ground.”
“You did this to yourself, Marcus,” Maya replied, her voice eerily calm against the roar of the gale. “You walked out that door. You made your choice.”
“I made a business trip!” he shouted, stepping forward. “You stole my files! You fed my private company to the feds! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? They’re going to arrest me, Maya!”
“They’re going to arrest a thief,” she corrected him coldly. “Those patents were never yours. The holding company was built on my code, my labor, and my silence. I simply took back what belonged to me before you drove it off a cliff.”
Marcus lunged toward the table where her laptop lay. “Give me the encryption key. Enter the password, retract the whistleblower statement, and we walk out of here. We can fix this. We can be a family.”
May you like
“A family?” Maya let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “You told me to call a cab while our child was crowning. You don’t have a family, Marcus. You have hostages. And my daughter and I are no longer among them.”
Marcus’s face darkened with rage. He abandoned the laptop and stepped directly toward the bassinet. “That’s my daughter. And you’re not taking her anywhere.”
