Chapter 2 - The Anatomy of a Hostage
The color drained from Beatrice’s face. She stood up, her expensive silk shawl slipping from her shoulders. "You wouldn't dare. We have a contract."
"A contract that includes a morality and upkeep clause regarding the welfare of the occupants," I lied, my voice dripping with cold authority. It didn't matter if it were true; they were too terrified to check. "And I believe 'domestic servitude' and 'physical endangerment' breach just about every standard of living agreement in the state."
Maya finally stepped away from the sink, clutching her dishcloth to her chest. "Mom, please. They’ll be angry. They’ll just make it worse."
I reached out and took the rag from her. It was freezing cold. I dropped it into the sink. "Maya, you are leaving. Now."
"She isn't going anywhere!" Ethan shouted, lunging forward. He reached for her arm, his fingers clawing for the bruise I had already seen.
I didn't move fast, but I moved with absolute finality. I stepped between them, my hand rising to grip his wrist. It wasn't a fight; it was a containment. "If you touch her again, Ethan, I will not call the police. I will call the IRS and hand them your company’s 'creative' bookkeeping I’ve been quietly documenting for the last six months. Do you want to see how fast you go from a 'successful consultant' to a federal inmate?"
His eyes bulged. He knew. He knew I had seen the files.
"Get your bags, Maya," I said, not taking my eyes off his.
May you like
"I... I can't," Maya whispered, her spirit broken. "I have nowhere to go."
"You have a home," I said, my voice softening for the first time. "You have your mother’s home. And as of this moment, this house is officially empty."
