Brandt was planning to kill me tonight, in front of all our friends, all our associates, all the witnesses who would believe it was tragic but accidental. He had prepared everything. A doctor ready to sign the report. A funeral program ready to print. A death he would mourn convincingly while collecting everything I had built.
My first instinct was to run. My mind screamed for me to leave through the garage door and disappear into the city. But then I imagined Brandt filing missing person reports. I imagined him tracking my devices, freezing my accounts, calling the police, using his connections. He would hunt me the way hunters follow wounded prey. He knew everything about me. My passwords, my schedules, my habits. Running would only buy time, not freedom.
I wiped my tears. Something inside me hardened like stone. If I escaped tonight, another attempt would come. Another carefully timed “accident”. Another fabricated medical report. Another smiling speech. He would not stop until he succeeded. The world would see him as a grieving husband regardless.
“No,” I whispered. “Not again. Not ever.”