Chapter 3 - The ProtocolI stood completely still for three seconds, letting the heat in my cheek settle into an icy, crystal-clear focus.
For three years, I had tolerated their snide remarks. I had overlooked the missed utility contributions, the ruined designer clothes they borrowed without asking, and the constant, passive-aggressive reminders that I was just an “outsider with money.” I had done it for Daniel. I had done it because I believed that family was something you held together at all costs.
I was wrong.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket once more.
Nicole laughed again, a harsh, mocking sound. “Oh, look! She’s calling Daniel! Go ahead, call him! See whose side my brother takes!”
I ignored her. I didn't dial Daniel’s number.
Instead, I dialed a direct private line I hadn't used in almost two years—a security and asset management firm headquartered in downtown Chicago, run by a former military intelligence operative named Arthur Vance.
The phone rang once. Twice.
“Ms. Bennett?” Arthur’s deep, measured voice came through the speaker.
“Yes, Arthur,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed directly on Diane’s face. My voice didn't tremble. It was flat, hard, and utterly devoid of mercy. “I need the residential protocol activated.”
There was a brief, heavy silence on the line as Arthur digested the request. The "residential protocol" was a comprehensive asset-security measure we had drafted three years ago when I first moved my personal holdings into a private family trust.
“Everyone, Ms. Bennett?” Arthur asked softly.
I looked at Nicole, who was still smirking.
I looked at Diane, whose hand was still trembling slightly from the force of the slap.
I looked at the brass key rack near the foyer, where the keys to my Range Rover, my Porsche, and my estate gates were hanging—keys they used as if they owned the dealership.
“Everyone who isn't on the deed,” I said.
Nicole’s smirk faltered. A crease of confusion appeared between her painted eyebrows.
Diane frowned, taking half a step back. “What did you just say? Who are you talking to?”
“Understood,” Arthur replied crisply on the phone. “We will execute at 0900 hours tomorrow. Stand by for physical security arrival.”
“Thank you, Arthur.”
I ended the call, slipped the phone back into my pocket, and met Diane’s suspicious glare.
“What did you just do, Lauren?” Diane demanded, her tone rising in pitch. “Who was that? Are you trying to intimidate us?”
“Nothing you need to worry about tonight,” I said softly.
May you like
Without another word, I turned on my heel, walked up the grand staircase, and entered my master suite. I locked the heavy mahogany door behind me, engaged the deadbolt, and sat down at my desk.
My cheek was still throbbing, but my hands were entirely steady as I pulled out my laptop and began drafting a legal notice.
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