Chapter 1

My daughter Alice had been trafficked by my foster brother Valencia. My wife Angel — a decorated police officer — turned him in without hesitation.

Five years. Six interrogations. Valencia walked free every single time.

After the seventh review came back empty, she dragged herself home, exhausted down to the bone.

"There's no evidence linking it to him," she said. "Let's just try for another baby."

I held her and cried through the whole night.

The next morning, I threw Valencia into a pit I'd dug myself, and went live.

I smiled into the camera.

"Angel, you have five chances. Hand over the evidence you've been hiding. Otherwise…"

I tossed a shovelful of dirt straight into his face.

"You can come identify the body yourself."

Three minutes in, the viewer count was closing in on half a million.

On camera: the outskirts of town, a stretch of wasteland, a freshly dug rectangular pit.

Valencia was bound with rope, a rag stuffed in his mouth, lying at the bottom of the hole.

I stood at the edge in a black jacket, face blank, a shovel and a mound of fresh dirt at my feet.

And on the other side of that screen, the person who couldn't breathe — the woman everyone called a legend — was my wife. Head of the Criminal Investigation Division. Angel.

"Endrick! Stop it right now! What the hell is wrong with you?! Whatever this is, we can talk about it at home!"

She was in full uniform, screaming at the camera.

I watched her face on the big screen — all that panic — and let the corner of my mouth twitch.

"Home? Angel, I don't have a home anymore. Right now, all I want is the evidence."

The comment section was losing its mind:

[Holy shit! This opening is INSANE! Is he actually going to bury this guy alive?]

[Wait — his wife is THE Angel? The detective who cracked like a hundred major cases?? What is he doing?? Has he lost it??]

[Setting aside everything else — this guy is livestreaming the kidnapping of a cop's brother. That takes guts.]

[This is kidnapping. This is a CRIME. "Guts"?? Someone call 911!!]

The one-sided condemnation seemed to loosen something in Angel's posture.

She straightened up and switched into full professional mode.

"Endrick! Alice's case — all the evidence pointed to the trafficker who died in that accident!"

"The case is closed! I don't understand what more you want!"

"Stop what you're doing right now! Release Valencia! For the sake of our marriage, I'll get you the best attorney money can buy!"

I didn't say a word. I just quietly bent down, grabbed the shovel, and scooped up a heap of wet dirt tangled with grass roots.

Then I flicked my wrist, and the clump hit Valencia square in the face.

He turned into a mud-caked mess, thrashing wildly at the bottom of the pit, letting out muffled, desperate wails.

Angel's expression froze solid.

I drove the shovel into the ground with a heavy thud. "Angel, you think this is a game to me?"

She went pale, her finger pointing at the screen, lips trembling. "You — you wouldn't dare—"

I pulled a small USB drive from my pocket and held it up to the camera.

"One." I raised a single finger.

"Angel, it's been five years. You handed me six 'flawless' case reports. Now you get six chances. That's fair."

"That encrypted folder on your computer — the one protected by your badge number — upload everything in it. No edits, no deletions. Put it online."

"Each chance comes with one hour."

"If I don't see it when that hour's up…"

I scooped another shovelful of dirt and let it fall into the pit, burying Valencia's ankles.

"…I'll finish filling this hole."

[??? An encrypted folder?? Her own badge number as the password?? There is SO much going on here!]

[Wait — how does he even know about the folder? This is genuinely terrifying the more you think about it.]

[She's a detective. Of course she has confidential files. This guy is just looking for a fight.]

[Exactly. He's clearly always been jealous of her and her brother. He's using their daughter as an excuse to get revenge. Men can be so twisted.]

The department's official account posted an emergency notice:

[Sir, your actions are in serious violation of the law. We have located you and officers are on their way. Stand down immediately.]

Amateur hour.

I'd had a friend set up IP masking for me. The signal had bounced through eighteen layers of the dark web. Their tech team wasn't cracking that anytime soon.

The minutes ticked by. The police made zero visible progress, cycling through the same warnings on the public feed over and over.

Viewers flooded the department's official account demanding action.

Eventually, the department posted another update — claiming their technical team was working at full capacity, and warning me not to get comfortable.

I checked my watch. Then I jumped down into the pit, pinned his hand under my boot, and raised the shovel over his palm.

"Mmmph—!" Valencia's eyes went wide with terror. He shook his head frantically.

I brought it down without expression.

Crack.

A clean, sharp sound — the snap of bone — came through the mic and spread across every screen in the feed.

I took a slow breath and raised the shovel again, this time over Valencia's face.

Just before it came down —

"Stop!"

Angel's voice cracked. The veins along her temples were standing out.

"I'll give it to you! I'll give it to you! Don't touch him!"