Chapter 4
The Dinner Party of Thieves
Friday night arrived with the kind of heavy, humid air that usually preceded a summer thunderstorm. Through the front windows of my own home, I could see the chandelier lit up, throwing warm, golden light across the manicured front lawn. A line of luxury vehicles sat in the driveway, including Richard’s new silver pickup truck, still carrying its temporary dealer plates.
They were celebrating. According to the social media posts Amanda had been uploading all afternoon, they were hosting a "belated housewarming and investment dinner" for Richard’s new corporate partners. They thought I was tucked away in a VA hospital or hiding out in a motel room, defeated by their legal paperwork.
I stood in the shadow of the old oak tree across the street, watching the guests arrive. I wasn't alone. Behind me, parked two blocks down, were three unmarked police cruisers and a dark SUV carrying two representatives from the State Attorney's Financial Crimes Division.
"Are we green, Captain?" Miller's voice crackled through the small earpiece in my right ear.
"We're green," I said. "Give it five minutes until they serve the main course. I want everyone at the table."
I walked across the asphalt, my dress uniform pristine. I had traded my dusty combat fatigues for my Class A dress blues—the gold buttons polished, the medals for valor pinned precisely above my left breast pocket, the silver captain's bars gleaming on my shoulders. If this was going to be a execution of their reputation, it was going to be done with full military honors.
I didn't use the side door this time. I walked right up to the front entrance, unlocked the door with my old brass key—which Richard hadn't bothered to change yet—and stepped into the grand foyer.
The sound of clinking wine glasses, soft jazz, and the smell of roasted prime rib drifted from the formal dining room. I walked down the hallway, the leather of my low-quarters clicking sharply against the hardwood floor.
The dining room was beautiful. Twelve people sat around the long mahogany table. Richard was at the head, wearing a tailored linen suit, holding a crystal glass of scotch aloft. Sloane sat to his right, wearing an expensive emerald dress that I had never seen before, laughing at something one of the investors had said. Amanda was busy pouring wine, her gold bracelets clanking like chains.
"...and we expect the initial development phase to clear within ninety days," Richard was saying, his face flushed with alcohol and pride. "My brother's military connections give us a unique leverage in the local zoning board, so—"
May you like
"My military connections don't give you a damn thing, Richard," I said, stepping into the dining room doorway.
The crystal glass slipped from Richard’s hand, crashing against the mahogany table and sending a dark wave of amber scotch across the white linen tablecloth. The laughter in the room died instantly, replaced by a sudden, freezing silence.
