“I won’t let you hurt her,” Richard said.

He stepped between Hayes and the corner where Madison stood.

His shoulder blocked my line of sight to Hayes’s weapon.

“Get out of the way, Richard,” Hayes warned.

The rain outside lashed against the glass, a sudden gust of wind rattling the frame.

Through the window, a flash of lightning illuminated the courtyard, casting long, distorted shadows across the room.

In that brief flash, I saw the tension in Hayes’s forearm.

He was going to shoot.

I braced my feet against the floor, preparing to spring.

My father turned his back to Hayes, reaching out his arms to cover Madison against the wall.

“Madison, get down,” Richard yelled.

Hayes didn’t hesitate.

His hand rose.

The security office monitors flickered as a sudden surge of static ran through the building’s backup generator.

A sharp, metallic pop echoed through the confined space.

The bullet hit Richard in the upper back.

He gasped, his body jerking forward into the concrete wall.

His hands scraped against the painted plaster as he slid down, still trying to press his weight against Madison.