Chapter 5 - The Glass House Collapses
Panic turned Ryan into a frantic, frantic animal.
He scrambled down the stairs, tripping over his own duffel bag in the foyer, and bolted into his home office. His hands were shaking so violently he could barely type his password into his desktop computer.
He logged into his security system dashboard, desperate to review the footage from the front porch camera to see when the ambulance had arrived, who had taken Emma, and where his son was.
He clicked on the camera logs for Thursday afternoon—the day he left.
A red error banner flashed across the screen: CAMERA FEED OFFLINE. BACKUP STORAGE WIPED BY PRIMARY ACCOUNT HOLDER ON THURSDAY AT 1:15 P.M.
Ryan gasped. Emma didn't have the administrator password for the home security system. Only two people had that access: himself, and his older brother Noah, who had installed the smart home system for them three years ago before their falling out.
"Noah...?" Ryan whispered, his mind spinning out of control. "Why would Noah...?"
Before he could finish the thought, his cell phone rang loudly on the desk. The caller ID displayed a number he hadn't seen on his screen in over two years: NOAH PARKER.
Ryan snatched the phone off the desk, pressing it to his ear with a white-knuckled grip. "Noah?! Noah, where the hell is Emma?! What happened in my house?! There’s blood everywhere! Where is my son?!"
Noah’s voice came through the speaker. It was not filled with panic or grief. It was impossibly calm, deep, and dripping with an absolute, terrifying authority.
"Hello, Ryan," Noah said softly. "I see you finally made it back from your birthday trip."
"Noah, stop playing games!" Ryan screamed, pacing frantically across his office rug. "Where is my wife?! Is she dead?! Did she die on the floor?! Tell me what happened!"
"She almost did, Ryan," Noah replied coldly. "She lost three liters of blood while you were ordering oysters in Aspen. But she didn't die. Mom and I got to her just in time."
Ryan felt a sudden, massive surge of relief wash over his chest, so intense his knees almost buckled. She was alive! She wasn't dead! The police wouldn't charge him with manslaughter! He could spin this! He could apologize, buy her flowers, blame his behavior on stress, and hire a private nurse!
"Oh, thank God!" Ryan breathed, letting out a nervous, breathless laugh. "Thank God she’s okay! Noah, where is she? Which hospital is she at? I’m driving there right now! I was so worried about her—"
"Don't bother driving to Denver Health, Ryan," Noah interrupted sharply. "She’s not in the ICU anymore. And you aren't welcome anywhere near her or Ethan."
Ryan’s relief vanished instantly, replaced by a sudden surge of defensive anger. "What the hell are you talking about, Noah?! She's my wife! Ethan is my son! You can't keep me away from my own family! You're an estranged relative who hasn't been in our lives for two years!"
"I was the man who kicked your front door down while you were making fun of your bleeding wife on Instagram, Ryan," Noah said, his tone turning into pure steel. "And right now, Emma is sitting in a room with Detective Miller of the Denver Police Department's Special Victims Unit, alongside representatives from Child Protective Services."
Ryan froze. The blood drained from his face for the second time that afternoon. "CPS...? Police...? Noah, what did you tell them?!"
"We didn't have to tell them much, little brother," Noah said smoothly. "We just showed them the blood-soaked rug, the medical emergency reports, the three-day timeline of your trip, and your brilliant social media video where you boasted about leaving your sick wife to 'choose yourself.'"
"That video was a joke!" Ryan yelled, his voice rising in high-pitched hysteria. "It was just guys being guys! I didn't know she was actually bleeding that badly! She didn't tell me!"
"She begged you on her knees, Ryan. It’s all on the 911 dispatch recording and her phone’s audio notes," Noah stated coldly. "If you want to see your wife and son, Ryan, you don't need to go to a hospital. You need to come to the 4th Precinct Police Station on Colfax Avenue. They are waiting for you."
The call went dead.
Ryan stood in his silent office, holding the dead phone to his ear, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The walls of his comfortable, luxury life were closing in around him with terrifying speed.
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He had two choices: run, or go to the police station and try to manipulate his way out of this, just like he had done his entire life.
Ryan straightened his wool sweater, brushed the dust off his pants, and picked up his keys. "I can fix this," he lied to himself, stepping over his shattered luxury watch as he walked out the door. "I just need to control the narrative."
