My seven-year-old daughter looked at the white Styrofoam container in my lap and asked, “Mommy, if we eat today, will we starve tomorrow?”

At the bottom of the hill, the heavy iron gates of Willow Ridge remained locked shut.

Vincent stepped out of his car, walking calmly toward the bars of the gate. On the other side, Trent was pacing like a caged animal, his eyes wild, sweat glistening on his forehead despite the cool autumn air.

"Open these damn gates!" Trent roared, slamming his tire iron against the iron bars with a loud, metallic CLANG. "You’re holding my family hostage!"

Vincent stopped two feet from the gate, looking at Trent as if he were a minor inconvenience on an otherwise pleasant afternoon.

"Your family is currently eating lunch inside my home, Mr. Pruitt," Vincent said, his voice amplified by the gate’s outdoor microphone system. "And two minutes ago, three units of the Ohio State Highway Patrol were dispatched to this location."

Trent sneered, raising the iron bar. "Good! Let them come! I’m the father! You’re just some mob guy who snatched them off a park bench!"

"You didn't report your family kidnapped, Trent," Vincent said calmly, leaning slightly against the stone pillar. "Because if you had called the police, they would have checked your outstanding warrants first."

Trent froze, the tire iron lowering an inch. "Warrants? I don't have no warrants."

"You do as of forty-five minutes ago," Vincent replied smoothly. "My legal team presented the evidence of your tax fraud and corporate identity theft to the Assistant District Attorney at the county courthouse. A warrant for your arrest on federal tax evasion and bank fraud was issued at 10:15 this morning."

Trent’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His face went from bright red to a sickly, pale white.

"In addition," Vincent continued, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper, "the police officer currently responding to this gate is Sergeant Miller. He happens to be the brother of the woman who runs the crisis shelter downtown. I personally informed him of the state your wife’s face was in when I found her last night."

In the distance, the faint, wailing sound of police sirens echoed through the valley, growing louder with every second.

Trent looked down the long, empty highway, then back at Vincent’s cold, unreadable face.

"You ruined me," Trent choked out, his voice cracking with a mixture of terror and impotent rage. "You ruined my whole life for a woman you don't even know!"

"You ruined yourself, Trent," Vincent said, turning his back on the gate and walking back toward his car. "Shelby just survived you."

Two state trooper cruisers rounded the bend of the highway, their red and blue lights flashing wildly against the trees. Within seconds, the cruisers boxed in Trent’s red pickup.

Officers stepped out with drawn weapons, shouting commands. Trent dropped the tire iron onto the pavement, his hands going into the air as he was forced to his knees against the cold asphalt.