Chapter 2
The silence that fell over the brightly lit hallway was absolute and terrifying. James Bennett stood in the doorway like a monument carved from granite. His fair, rosy skin, usually weathered with a commanding military stoicism, was completely drained of color.
The bright baby gift bag slipped from his fingers. It hit the hardwood floor with a dull thud. The small, incredibly soft pink teddy bear tumbled out, rolling across the polished wood until it bumped gently against the leg of a nearby console table.
"Who is there?" Linda demanded, spinning around on her heels. Her eyes widened in sheer panic as she recognized the imposing figure in the doorway. "James! We… we weren't expecting you."
James did not answer her. He did not even look at her. His eyes were locked entirely on his daughter. He walked straight into the bedroom, his heavy, polished shoes striking the floor with the rhythmic, terrifying cadence of an approaching executioner.
"Dad!" Emily gasped, her voice breaking into a ragged sob.
"What are you doing walking into my home unannounced?" Ryan stammered, stepping back from the bed, his American accent wavering. He instinctively adjusted his wristwatch, trying to project a confidence he suddenly did not possess. "You can't just barge in here."
James ignored him completely. He reached the edge of the bed and looked down at Emily. Without a word, he reached out and pulled the thick blanket aside.
The cinematic, natural light illuminated the horrific truth. Dark, vicious fingerprints bloomed across both of Emily's upper arms, stark and ugly against her fair, rosy skin. Worse still, a large, blooming purple bruise rested dangerously close to the curve of her seven-month-pregnant belly.
James’s breath caught in his throat. The heavy gold family signet ring on his right hand caught the light as his hands began to tremble—not with fear, but with a murderous, unadulterated rage.
Emily reached out, her small, trembling fingers grabbing his large, calloused hand. She clung to him as if she were drowning.
"Daddy," Emily wept, her voice shattering the quiet room. "Please don’t leave me here. Please."
"I am right here, sweetheart," James whispered, his voice impossibly gentle as he looked at his daughter. "I'm right here. Nobody is ever going to touch you again."
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He gently squeezed her hand, letting her go, and slowly turned his head. The warmth in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, dead stare that had paralyzed men on battlefields and in underground interrogation rooms. He turned his body toward Ryan and Linda.
"You have five seconds," James said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly register, "to explain to me why my daughter is covered in bruises."
