Chapter 4 - The Puppet on a WireThe basement interrogation suite beneath the Bennett mansion was built like a vault—soundproof walls, concrete floors, and a single stainless steel table flanked by two heavy chairs.
Greg Hayes sat at the table, nervously bouncing his leg. He was thirty-five, wearing a shiny, cheap suit that smelled of stale cigarettes and expensive cologne. His eyes darted around the cold room in panic as the heavy steel door hissed open.
Harrison pushed Richard’s wheelchair into the room, followed closely by Laura.
When Greg saw Laura dressed in high-end wool and diamonds, flanked by a fearsome man in a motorized wheelchair and an armed security chief, his nervous posture immediately turned into an arrogant sneer.
"Well, well, well," Greg laughed nervously, leaning back in his chair. "Look at you, Laura! Living like a queen in a mobster's castle while I’ve been searching for my kids for years!"
Laura stopped three feet from the table, her posture straight, her eyes colder than Greg had ever seen them.
"You haven't searched for anyone, Greg," Laura said, her voice dripping with disdain. "You abandoned us five years ago when I was seven months pregnant with Emma. You stole my mother’s wedding ring and six hundred dollars from my purse to pay off your bookies."
"I was going through a tough time, Laura!" Greg shouted, slapping his hand on the table. "A father has rights! You took my son and my daughter and hid them in this freak's house!"
Richard moved his wheelchair forward until he was inches from Greg’s face.
The absolute, crushing presence of Richard Bennett made Greg’s voice instantly die in his throat.
"You have five seconds to tell me who paid you to come here," Richard said softly. The tone wasn't raised, but it carried the weight of an executioner’s sentence. "If you lie to me once, you will never leave this room on your own feet."
Greg swallowed hard, his confidence evaporating. "I... I don't know what you're talking about! I came for my kids!"
Richard didn't move a muscle. He simply looked at Harrison.
Harrison stepped forward, pulled a heavy tactical knife from his belt, and slammed it into the wooden tabletop two inches from Greg’s hand. The sharp THUNK made Greg scream and jump back in his chair.
"Four seconds," Richard said smoothly.
"Viktor!" Greg shrieked, pressing himself against the back of his chair, sweat pouring down his forehead. "A guy named Viktor Kozlov! He found me in Las Vegas three days ago! He paid off my gambling debts—two hundred thousand dollars—and gave me fifty grand in cash! He told me to come to Chicago, claim custody of the kids, and cause a public scene at your gates!"
Laura gasped, covering her mouth. "Viktor..."
"What else did Viktor tell you to do?" Richard asked, his eyes icy.
"He... he said that once I got inside the gates or caused enough drama for the news crews," Greg babbled, weeping in terror, "his men would use the distraction to cut the security power at the rear estate fence! He said he just needed five minutes of chaos to get a team inside!"
Richard’s eyes snapped toward Harrison.
At that exact moment, the emergency red alarm lights inside the basement suite began to flash silently. The heavy hum of the mansion’s primary generator kicked in as the main power grid was abruptly severed.
Harrison pulled his sidearm instantly, stepping in front of Richard and Laura. "Sir! Primary perimeter fence breach detected at the north garden!"
Greg shrieked, curling into a ball under the table. "Don't kill me! I was just following orders!"
Richard didn't even glance at Greg. He turned his chair toward Laura, his face devoid of panic—only absolute, ruthless command.
"Laura, listen to me," Richard said, taking her hand firmly. "Harrison will escort you up the private elevator directly to the panic suite where Rosa and the kids are waiting. The room is reinforced with four-inch steel plates and has its own oxygen supply. Nobody gets in without my biometric code."
"What about you?!" Laura cried, gripping his arm tightly. "Richie, you can't fight them in a wheelchair!"
Richard looked at her, a fierce, brilliant smile touching his lips for the first time in weeks.
"Laura," Richard whispered, kissing the back of her hand. "You forgot who I am. I didn't survive twenty years in this city by being helpless."
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He pressed a hidden button on his armrest. The side panels of his motorized wheelchair slid back, revealing two sleek, high-caliber submachine guns mounted beneath the frame, linked to an automated target-acquisition system controlled by his fingertips.
"Harrison, get her upstairs," Richard ordered, his voice echoing through the alarm-lit corridor. "It’s time to show Viktor Kozlov why my name is on this building."
