Chapter 7 - The Approach
Mark froze. The atmosphere in the room suddenly dropped twenty degrees. He looked from his daughter's pleading, terrified eyes to the black leather bag resting innocently in the afternoon sunlight.
Across the room, Eleanor’s fake, grandmotherly smile faltered for a fraction of a millisecond. A muscle twitched in her jaw. "Don't be ridiculous, Mark," she said, but her voice had dropped an octave. The sugary sweetness was gone, replaced by a razor-sharp edge of authority that bled through the facade. "It's just my personal belongings. Leave it alone." She took a sudden, swift step toward the chair, intending to intercept him. But Mark was younger, faster, and fueled by a father's rage. He stood up, gently placing Lily behind him. Towering over the elderly woman, his eyes locked on the bag. He closed the distance in three long, deliberate strides, his heavy hand shooting out to grab the thick leather straps before she could reach it.
