Chapter 6 - A Price on My Breath
The cabin smelled of damp pine needles, mildew, and decades-old memories. Madison led Roman through the dark living room, her flashlight beam sweeping over dusty wicker furniture, an old stone fireplace, and a yellowed family portrait hanging crookedly above the mantel.
In the photo, Madison was ten years old, wearing pigtails, holding a wooden fishing pole, and grinning from ear to ear while her father held up a small sunfish with boundless pride.
“The greenhouse is behind the boathouse,” she said, tearing her eyes away from the photograph.
They walked through the back porch, navigating through knee-deep wild brambles until they reached a rusted glass-and-iron structure covered in dead ivy. Inside, cracked terracotta pots and overturned bags of fertilizer lay strewn across the damp earth.
Roman drew a combat knife from his tactical belt and handed it to Madison, while he grabbed a rusted iron spade leaning against a potting bench.
“Where did he spend his time when you came here as a kid?” Roman asked.
“The center planter,” Madison answered without hesitation. “He planted heirloom tomatoes every single July. He told me the soil had to be dug three feet deep to let the roots breathe.”
Roman began digging into the damp earth, shoving the spade deep into the loam. After ten minutes of grueling, silent labor, the metal blade struck something solid with a dull, hollow thud.
Madison dropped to her knees, clawing away the damp black dirt with her bare hands until she uncovered a heavy, waterproof Pelican case sealed with thick industrial clamps.
Roman hooked the edge of the spade under the handle and hoisted the heavy case onto the concrete potting bench. Madison unlatched the four heavy plastic snaps and opened the lid.
Inside rested a leather-bound journal wrapped in waterproof plastic, two encrypted military-grade USB drives, and three stacks of crisp, uncirculated hundred-dollar bills. But sitting directly on top of the journal was a handwritten letter addressed to: My Dearest Maddie.
Madison picked up the envelope with trembling fingers, but before she could break the wax seal, the sharp red beam of a laser sight painted a bright dot across the center of her chest.
“Step away from the box, Miss Brooks,” a cold, raspy voice echoed from the shattered entrance of the greenhouse.
Roman moved instinctively, throwing his body in front of Madison, his weapon clearing his holster in a split second.
Crack!
A high-caliber sniper round tore through the greenhouse glass, striking Roman squarely in his Kevlar vest. The sheer kinetic impact threw him backward off his feet, crashing violently into the terracotta potting shelves.
“Roman!” Madison screamed, diving to the dirt floor beside him.
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Victor Vance stepped through the broken frame of the greenhouse door, flanked by four heavily armed mercenaries carrying tactical shotguns. Vance smiled, a horrifying, scarred grimace that stretched across his weathered face like cracked leather.
“Daniel’s little princess,” Vance sneered, leveling a gold-plated semi-automatic pistol directly between her eyes. “Your father cost me five years of my life in a federal cage, little girl. And now, you’re going to hand me that ledger, or I’ll blow your pretty head off and let Roman watch you bleed out.”
