“Emily is Ryan’s wife,” Charles said.

“She belongs exactly where we put her.”

“This is a private family matter.”

“It is none of your business.”

He waved a hand, as if brushing away a stray insect in his garden.

“Go back to your greenhouse, Arthur, before you do something you will regret.”

Ryan shifted his weight, tightening his grip on the aluminum baseball bat.

The metal caught the yellow glare of the porch lamp, gleaming wetly.

“You heard my father, old man,” Ryan said.

“Get off our property.”

I took a slow, deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs.

My heart rate remained steady, sitting at a calm sixty beats per minute.

I looked past them, into the bright foyer.

I could see the curved marble staircase and the polished mahogany floors.

There was no sign of Emily yet.

But I knew she was in there, somewhere in the dark rooms of the upper floors.

“I am not leaving without her,” I said.

Charles sighed and shook his head, his face hardening into an expression of pure boredom.