Chapter 9 - The Seventh Floor Confrontation
I reached the seventh-floor fire escape platform outside Claire's kitchen window.
The window was unlocked, cracked open two inches to allow fresh air into her apartment while the gas was being pumped into mine below.
I pushed the sash upward and slipped silently into Claire's kitchen.
The apartment smelled of rich herbs, roasting garlic, and expensive candle wax—the luxurious cover scent for a double murder.
In the living room, Ryan and Claire stood side by side near the window, staring down at the alley, waiting for the smoke to begin pouring from my apartment shutters.
Ryan held a black electronic transmitter in his right hand. Claire held a glass of red wine, her arm wrapped affectionately around my husband's waist.
"How long until the relay sparks?" Claire asked softly, taking a sip from her glass.
"Two minutes," Ryan replied, checking his luxury gold watch—the watch I had bought him for his last birthday. "The timer on the junction box is set for 12:15. Once the fire catches the kitchen line, the explosion will blow out the front door frame. It'll look like a gas line rupture from the old pipes."
"And the insurance representative?"
"Already spoke to him," Ryan smirked. "He's expecting my call by two o'clock."
"You always were the smart brother, Ryan," Claire murmured, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Luke was so stupid. He actually thought we were going to share the inheritance."
I stepped out of the kitchen shadows into the doorway of the living room.
"He wasn't stupid, Claire," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet room like a shattered glass blade. "He just made the mistake of trusting parasites."
Ryan and Claire spun around simultaneously.
Claire dropped her wine glass. It shattered against the white hardwood floor, deep red liquid spreading like a pool of blood across the rug.
Ryan's face drained of every drop of color. He stared at me as if he were looking at a ghost returned from the grave. My clothes were damp, my hair wild, my hands stained with soot and blood from the fire escape.
"Emily?!" Ryan gasped, stepping back, his hand trembling as he held the electronic detonator. "How... how did you get out?!"
"You forgot about the light well window, Ryan," I said, stepping forward into the room, holding my phone high in my right hand. "The same window you used to run the gas line down into my bathroom."
Claire's gentle, sympathetic facade shattered instantly. Her eyes narrowed into slits of pure, venomous hatred.
"Press the button, Ryan!" Claire screamed, grabbing his arm. "Ignite the apartment! Do it now!"
"It's too late, Claire," I said coldly, pressing a button on my phone screen.
From the hallway outside Claire's front door came a deafening, thunderous sound.
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BOOM.
The heavy oak front door of Claire's apartment was blown inward off its hinges with a hydraulic breaching charge.
