Chapter 4

"Now," I said, fixing my gaze on Annika Lambert across the table. "Annika, I need you to tell me. Why did you write that exposé smearing my dad's name? And after it all blew up, how did you manage to erase every trace of it online?"

I stared her down. "Your answer will decide whether I forget where your husband and kids are hiding."

Since it was just a pre-recorded interview and there was almost no chance it'd ever see the light of day, Annika felt zero pressure. She launched into her story without hesitation, her tone carrying a touch of pride.

"Back then, I'd just gotten my press credentials, and my personal channel was really taking off. I was basically the queen of breaking news in town. If I didn't get the inside scoop before anyone else, my followers would bail, and the platform would stop boosting me," she said.

I shot her a cold look. "So you spun up lies just to boost your clout and traffic, and that ended up getting my parents killed? Is that what you're saying?"

She sneered, "Don't put this on me. I didn't kill your parents, so why the hell are you blaming me for it?"

"I just didn't want anyone beating me to the punch. Go ask any journalism major, anyone hustling in media, or running their own channel. How many of them haven't done the same thing?" she said.

"This isn't just making stuff up. It's called connecting the dots, making an educated guess based on the facts. Don't you get how this works?" she added.

"How was I supposed to know that moron would lose it and murder your parents? If your dad had actually fixed his family, none of this would've happened. Don't blame me. Blame your dad for being a hack. What's that got to do with me?" she snapped.

She got so worked up that spit was foaming at the corners of her mouth, but she still refused to own up to anything.

She was absolute scum. There was just no saving someone like her.

"And what about that breakfast shop couple? You accused them of using soaked cardboard instead of real meat in their food," I said.

"Or that middle school teacher who paid for a student's textbooks out of her own pocket? When the parents reimbursed her, you spun it as her accepting gifts from parents, and she got cyberbullied so badly she ended up taking her own life," I added.

"And that kindergarten principal who just took a piece of chocolate a kid gave her? You accused her of shaking down the kids for treats," I continued.

"Tell me, were all these your reports?" I pressed.

She looked dismissive, couldn't care less. "Yeah, so what?"

"Those articles you wrote are nowhere to be found now. How did you pull that off?" I asked.

She looked smug. "Media companies can control the flow of information. Erasing a few news stories is a piece of cake. What's so hard about that?"

When she saw the icy glare in my eyes, it finally hit her that her husband and kids' lives were still in my hands. She dropped her gaze, suddenly remembering just how much was at stake.

"I've told you everything," she said, her voice a little shaky. "Can you let my husband and kids know where they are now?"

After Annika's confession, the cops in the room weren't shooting daggers at me anymore. Instead, their eyes were full of righteous anger and remorse.

But honestly, I stopped caring about what anyone thought a long time ago. Their opinions mean nothing to me now.

I calmly told her the address. "This is where your husband, Andrew Clark, is. I slipped something into his breakfast, so he should be coming around right about now."

Andrew was a goner.

The moment the cops busted down the door, ten crossbow bolts tore through him, skewering him like a porcupine. He dropped dead right then and there.

I drugged the whole family and shoved Andrew and the two kids into a minivan.

I locked Andrew away in a basement that had only one door.

He was tied up so tight, with one arm lashed to the door as a stand-in for the lock.

When the cops showed up, the sound of them breaking in jolted him awake. He realized he was wearing a helmet that silenced him completely, no matter how much he tried to scream for help.

The moment the cops used their battering ram to break in, it triggered a speaker rigged to the door.

A voice shouted, "Hurry! Help me!

"Thank God you're finally here! Break the door down!"

The voice coming from the speaker was a digitally recreated version of Andrew's voice, pieced together from his real recordings. Blasting through that rusty iron door, you couldn't tell it was fake at all.

The moment the door was smashed open, a saw rigged to it suddenly roared to life and cleanly severed Andrew's arm.

His arm dropped to the floor, yanking a thin wire wrapped around it, which instantly triggered the mechanism that fired ten crossbows mounted on the opposite wall.

The first cop through the door could only watch in shock as their rescue target was turned into a human pincushion by ten crossbow bolts, right before his eyes.

The bolts hit with such force that Andrew was nailed to the wall behind him, dying instantly on the spot.