Chapter 8 - The Cornered PredatorReynolds’ intervention bought us time, but it proved Vance was operating like a cornered animal. When a man with millions of dollars faces federal fraud charges and public humiliation, he stops playing by corporate rules.
That evening, I turned my home into a fortress.
I brought four of my top working dogs—including Bacon and my senior patrol Shepherd, Keno—from the facility kennels up to the main house. They settled quietly in the living room and hallways, their sharp senses tuned to every rustle of the wind against the windows.
At 9:30 p.m., while I was preparing dinner for the kids, my personal cell phone buzzed on the counter.
An unknown number.
I picked it up. "Grant."
"You're persistent, Bennett. I'll give you that," Ryan Vance’s voice sounded rough, drained of its usual arrogance, background noise suggesting he was driving fast. "Your little agricultural inspector buddy saved your dogs today. But you can't protect everything all the time."
"Where are you, Vance?" I asked, signaling Marcus on my laptop screen via quick text to track the incoming line.
"I'm at the end of my rope," Vance hissed. "The DA froze my corporate accounts this afternoon. Evelyn turned state's evidence two hours ago to avoid jail time—she handed over every email, every wire record, every single promise I made her."
"It's over, Vance. Turn yourself in."
"Not until I settle the score with you," Vance spat. "You ruined my life over a dusty patch of dirt and a nine-year-old kid's tears."
"You ruined your own life when you targeted my family," I replied coldly.
"Look out your front window, Grant."
My heart hammered against my ribs. I kept my movement slow, stepping toward the living room window while keeping the phone to my ear.
Down at the end of my long driveway, near the heavy wooden entry gate, a dark SUV was parked across the road with its headlights cut off. A dark silhouette stood beside the driver's door, holding something long and metallic in his right hand.
A road flare sparked to life in the darkness, throwing harsh red light across the gravel.
Vance was going to burn the front gate and outer kennels.
"Bacon, Keno—HEEL," I commanded in a sharp low voice.
Both working dogs rose instantly from the rug, silently falling into position at my left hip, their ears pinned forward, their eyes locked on the front door.
"Tessa," I called out softly toward the back hallway. "Take Miles into the safe room in the master closet, lock the steel deadbolt, and do not open it for anyone except me or Captain Reynolds."
"Okay, Dad," her small voice answered from the dark hallway. A second later, the heavy deadbolt clicked shut.
May you like
I grabbed my heavy tactical flashlight, slipped my shoes on, and unlocked the front door.
"Vance!" I shouted into the night, stepping out onto the porch with two apex working dogs at my side. "You step one foot over that fence line, and you won't walk back out!"
