My boss broke both my legs for asking for unpaid wages, completely unaware my retired Special Forces dad and his entire unit were on their way.

The silence that followed the trooper's words was thick with sudden violence. Patrick didn't look worried; he looked almost pleased, like a predator whose prey had foolishly wandered into his territory.

"Extraction team?" Patrick chuckled softly. "Contract mercs from the city?"

"High-end corporate security," the trooper corrected nervously. "Ex-PMC guys. Rumor has it they've been paid half a million dollars to make Audrey disappear before she can give a sworn deposition to the federal grand jury tomorrow morning."

Dad stood up to his full height. He checked the watch on his wrist, then turned to the trooper. "Get every civilian nurse and doctor off this floor. Tell Vance to keep the surgical ward on standby. Close the stairwells."

"Sir, this is a hospital—"

"And my daughter is in this bed," Dad interrupted, his tone leaving zero room for debate. "Either you clear this hallway, officer, or you stand aside and watch how we clear it."

The trooper swallowed, nodded sharply, and pulled his radio from his belt, running out the door.

Patrick stepped to the doorway, pulling two silenced handguns from beneath his dark utility jacket, checking the chambers with fluid, practiced clicks. "Leonard and Rafe are in the south elevator lobby. Isaac is on the roof. They won't even reach the corridor, Tom."

"No," Dad said. "Let them get past the elevators. I want them inside the trap. Nobody leaves to report back to Graham's backers."

I reached out, grabbing Dad's sleeve with trembling fingers. "Dad... please don't get hurt. Not for me."

Dad stopped. He looked down at me, and his harsh, weathered face softened into a smile that carried all the warmth of my childhood summers. He bent down and kissed the crown of my head.

"Audrey, when your mother passed, she made me promise two things: keep you safe, and teach you how to stand tall. A man broke your legs because he thought you were alone in this world. I am going to teach him, and everyone who works with him, that you never were."

The lights in the hospital hallway suddenly flickered and shut down, plunging the corridor into the eerie green glow of emergency backup lights.

Down the hall, the heavy fire doors clicked open.

Footsteps. Heavy, synchronized, tactical boots advancing across the linoleum. Four men, perhaps five.

Dad didn't hide. He stepped out of my hospital room into the dim corridor and shut the door behind him, locking me safely inside. Through the small reinforced window in the door, I watched the shadow of my father stand alone in the middle of the hallway.

A deep voice echoed down the corridor: *"Tom Bellamy! Step aside. We just want the girl. Nobody else has to bleed."*

Dad raised his hands—not in surrender, but to adjust the cuffs of his jacket.

"You took a contract on my daughter," Dad said, his voice booming like thunder in the enclosed space. "You should have asked for hazard pay."