“Dad!” Madison screamed.

Her voice was high and raw, echoing off the metal filing cabinets.

The smell of burnt gunpowder filled the small security office.

It mixed with the damp scent of wet wool from Hayes’s coat.

I shifted my weight, my boots pressing hard against the linoleum floor.

My hand hovered inches from my belt, my eyes locked on the barrel of Hayes’s weapon.

Hayes did not lower his arm.

He stepped forward, his polished black leather boots clicking on the floor.

The barrel of his pistol was now pointed directly at the space where Richard had just been standing.

“He was always weak, Natalie,” Hayes said.

His voice was flat, devoid of any adrenaline or anger.

“He thought he could manage the logistics, but he didn’t have the stomach for the cleanup.”

Richard groaned, his breath coming in shallow, rattling wheezes.

He was slumped on his side, his hand clutching his chest as dark blood began to soak through his tweed jacket.

Madison was on her knees beside him, her hands covered in his blood.