Chapter 2
The cramped storage room.
The little sanctuary I built for her with my own hands.
Now, she was squeezed into that tiny storage room on the top floor, barely a hundred square feet.
I could almost picture her curled up in there, all alone.
It felt like someone was sawing at my heart with a blunt knife, again and again.
"Andrew, sit down. I'll go get her," Mark said, already heading upstairs.
"Don't bother," I replied.
I brushed his hand off.
I didn't say a word.
I turned and walked away without looking back.
Mark's voice called out behind me, sounding confused.
"Andrew? Andrew! Where are you going?" Mark called.
"Dinner's almost ready. Why don't you eat before you go?" Mark called.
I didn't look back.
I walked out of that yard, now nothing but a wreck.
I left the old alley behind, the one I'd known all my life.
I got into my car.
I lit a cigarette.
My hands were trembling uncontrollably.
Through the swirling smoke, I stared at that little white house.
It wasn't Emily's safe haven anymore.
Now, it was nothing but a huge, shameless den for freeloaders.
I pulled out my phone and dialed a number.
"Hey Jack, it's Andrew," I said.
Jack Mason's cheerful voice came through the line. "Mr. Carter. Long time no see. Back in town?"
"Yeah.
"I need a favor."
My voice was cold as ice. "Send your best crew over, and bring all the equipment.
"Make sure you're at my place before sunrise tomorrow.
"I need a wall built."
After hanging up, I sat in my car all night.
As the first pale light of dawn crept over the horizon, I stubbed out my last cigarette.
I hadn't slept a wink, but my mind was razor-sharp.
I needed a plan.
A plan that would finish this for good, leaving nothing behind to come back and bite me.
Barging in to argue or start a fight?
That wouldn't work.
There were over thirty of them. If they all spat at me, I'd drown.
Call the cops?
This is just a family mess. The police would only try to play peacemaker and not actually do anything.
They'd cry, throw a fit, maybe even threaten to kill themselves, pull every trick in the book to look like the victims. Public opinion would turn against me in a heartbeat.
You can't handle shameless people by playing by the rules.
You have to bring down a force they can't even comprehend, let alone resist.
Pull the rug out from under them.
Trap them with no way out.
My gaze returned to that house.
The support I gave Emily wasn't supposed to be something her whole family could leech off of.
Jack had been my foreman for years, and he always got things done fast.
As the sky was starting to lighten, two big trucks and a small excavator rolled quietly into the alley.
More than twenty strong, burly men jumped out of the trucks.
All of them wore matching uniforms, moving like a well-oiled machine, silent and efficient.
Jack walked up to my car window.
"Mr. Carter, everything's ready," he said.
"Where's the blueprint?" I asked.
Jack handed me a tablet.
"Just like you asked. Thirty feet high, reinforced with ring beams and columns, using the best red bricks and cement. We'll dig the foundation five feet deep, this wall won't budge, no matter what," he said.
I nodded. "Seal off the gate. No one gets in or out."
"Got it."
"Money's not an issue," I said, locking eyes with him. "Do it fast, and make it unbreakable."
Jack grinned, flashing his white teeth. "Don't worry, Mr. Carter. Before night falls, not even a fly could escape."
I got out of the car.
The excavator's roar blasted through the morning silence.
It ripped through the dawn.
And it jerked everyone in that house awake from their dreams.
I leaned against my car, watching with icy indifference.
The excavator's massive arm tore into the earth, sending dirt flying.
The workers moved in, marking out the site, leveling the ground, and pouring the foundation.
The whole thing ran like a well-oiled machine, with a ruthless, mechanical beauty to it.
Window after window swung open upstairs.
One by one, sleepy heads stuck out, rubbing their eyes and trying to figure out what was going on.
But as soon as they caught sight of the scene outside, their faces went from confused to downright furious in a split second.
"What the hell are you doing?" Tom Evans shouted.
"Who said you could dig up my yard?" he yelled.
Mark's older brother, Tom Evans, a big, heavyset guy with a rough face, was hanging out the second-floor window, yelling at the top of his lungs.
No one paid him any attention.
The workers didn't even bat an eye, they just kept working like nothing happened.
Mark's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Evans, showed up on the third-floor balcony.
Mr. Evans was pointing downstairs, cursing up a storm, while Mrs. Evans was banging on the railing, screeching at the top of her lungs.
"This is outrageous. Is there no law left in this world?" Mr. Evans shouted.
"What are you trying to do? Are you trying to kill us?" Mrs. Evans shrieked.