Chapter 6 - The Bloodline of Wolfe
Wayne Mercer gasped for air, his face turning red as Adrian’s knuckles pressed hard against his windpipe.
The second man with the scar pulled his hand from his denim jacket, revealing a heavy iron tire iron. "Let him go, man! Or I'll crack your skull!"
Adrian didn't even turn his head. He kept his gray-blue eyes locked on Wayne’s bulging eyes.
"Vance," Adrian called out calmly.
From the front porch, the screen door swung open quietly. Vance walked into the kitchen, accompanied by two massive, broad-shouldered men in tailored dark suits—Adrian's private executive protection detail who had been waiting down the street in a second SUV.
In less than three seconds, the man with the tire iron was disarmed, his arm twisted behind his back, and slammed face-first against the kitchen wall by one of the guards.
Wayne Mercer looked at Vance, then at the two armed guards, and finally at the dark, lethal intensity radiating from the man holding him against the refrigerator.
"Who... who the hell are you?" Wayne choked out.
"My name is Adrian Wolfe," Adrian whispered, his face inches from Wayne’s. "I am the Chairman and CEO of Wolfe Industrial Group. Yesterday morning, I authorized the acquisition of your family's company, Mercer Steel Components."
Wayne’s eyes widened in sheer, catastrophic terror. "Wolfe? You're... you're Adrian Wolfe?"
"I am," Adrian said coldly. "And the debt you claim Lara Collins owed you just became my personal property. Vance?"
Vance stepped forward, opening a leather document folder. "Mr. Mercer, your loan-sharking operation in Bellweather operates entirely without a state lending license, carrying predatory interest rates exceeding four hundred percent. That constitutes felony extortion under Pennsylvania law. I have already transmitted the audio recording of your entry into this home to District Attorney Vance in Pittsburgh."
Wayne began to tremble violently. "Wait... look, Mr. Wolfe, we didn't know—"
"Get them out of my sight," Adrian ordered, throwing Wayne away like a piece of garbage.
The two security guards dragged Wayne and his associate out through the kitchen door, their boots scraping against the porch steps until the heavy front door clicked shut.
Silence fell over the kitchen once more.
Claire stood near the table, her hands covering her mouth, her body trembling so hard she had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing.
Upstairs, the sound of small, hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Emily, Sophie, and Naomi ran down the wooden stairs, stopping at the kitchen doorway. They looked at the scattered refrigerator magnets, at their weeping grandmother, and then at Adrian, who was smoothing down his charcoal sweater, his expression returning to absolute, gentle calm.
Sophie ran straight to Claire, burying her face in her grandmother's apron. "Grandma! Were those the bad men who took Mommy’s car?"
Claire dropped to her knees, pulling all three triplets into her arms, weeping openly now—not from anger, but from the sudden, overwhelming release of a terror that had crushed her for two solid years.
"They're gone, sweetie," Claire sobbed, kissing Sophie’s hair, then Naomi’s, then Emily’s. "They're gone. They won't ever come back."
Emily looked over her grandmother's shoulder. Her gray-blue eyes locked onto Adrian, who stood near the porcelain sink, holding his scraped hand against his side.
Emily slowly unclasped herself from her grandmother's embrace.
She walked across the kitchen linoleum, stopped in front of Adrian, and reached into her small denim jacket pocket.
She pulled out a small, rectangular band-aid decorated with a bright yellow rubber duck.
Without saying a single word, Emily reached up, grabbed Adrian's large, rough hand, and carefully wrapped the yellow duck band-aid over his bleeding scrape.
Adrian froze. He looked down at his six-year-old daughter, his throat closing up completely, tears finally spilling over his lashes and running freely down his cheeks.
"Thank you, Emily," Adrian choked out, dropping to his knees so he was eye-level with her.
Emily looked at the band-aid, then touched the silver pocket watch hanging from Adrian’s belt loop.
"Are you going to stay for dinner?" Emily asked quietly. "Grandma was making potatoes."
Adrian looked at Claire over the child's head.
Claire wiped her eyes with her apron. She looked at the fresh cedar boards under the sink, at the sealed pantry door, at the yellow duck band-aid on Adrian's hand, and finally at the three little girls who had spent seven years without a father.
May you like
Claire took a deep, trembling breath.
"Set five plates, Emily," Claire said softly. "Your father is staying for dinner."
