We crept inside. The smell of fresh hay, expensive leather, and horse sweat filled the air.
We found Monarch’s stall near the back. The massive black stallion was pacing nervously in the dark, still agitated from the drugs in his system.
Dad pulled a small, sterile medical kit from his pocket. “Keep him calm,” Dad whispered.
I stepped up to the stall door and spoke in a low, soothing murmur, letting Monarch smell my hand. Despite his aggressive reputation, the horse was just confused and over-medicated. He pressed his heavy nose against my palm.
Dad moved quickly and professionally. He found the vein on Monarch’s neck and slid the needle in. The horse barely flinched. Dad drew a full vial of dark, thick blood, capped it, and secured it in a padded case in his pocket.
“Got it,” Dad whispered. “Let’s move.”
Before we could turn around, the entire barn was instantly flooded with blinding, harsh overhead lights.
I gasped, throwing my arm over my eyes.
“Don’t move a muscle, Vance!” a loud, echoing voice commanded.
My vision adjusted. Blocking the main exit of the barn were Arthur Kensington and Headmaster Sterling. Flanking them were two massive private security guards, wearing tactical vests.
Arthur Kensington stepped forward, a cruel, triumphant smile on his face. He looked at the medical kit in Dad’s hand.
“I knew a stubborn Marine wouldn't just go home,” Kensington sneered. “I figured you might try something stupid to save your daughter’s reputation.”
“It’s over, Kensington,” Dad said, his voice calm, betraying zero fear. “I have the blood. I know about the embezzlement. I know about the Olympic buyer.”
Kensington laughed, a harsh, echoing sound. “You have nothing. You are trespassing on private property in the middle of the night. You’re holding a syringe next to a two-million-dollar asset.”
Kensington turned to the largest security guard. “These intruders are attempting to poison my horse. In this state, you are authorized to use lethal force to protect my property.”
The guard reached down and drew a heavy black handgun from his holster, pointing it directly at my dad’s chest.
“Drop the vial, Sergeant Major,” Kensington commanded, his eyes gleaming with malice. “Or my men will shoot you where you stand, and tomorrow morning, the police will find a desperate thief who got exactly what he deserved.”
CHAPTER 4
The sight of the gun aimed at my father’s chest froze the blood in my veins. My breath stopped. I looked at Dad, expecting him to raise his hands, to surrender the vial, to do anything to keep us alive.
But Dad didn't move. He stood perfectly relaxed, his eyes locking onto the security guard holding the weapon.
“You’re a rent-a-cop, son,” Dad said, his voice cutting through the tension with lethal calmness. “You fire that weapon at an unarmed man, Arthur Kensington isn't going to prison. You are. He’ll let you take the fall for murder while he catches a private jet to a non-extradition country.”
The guard hesitated, his eyes flicking nervously toward Kensington.
“Don't listen to him! Shoot him if he moves!” Kensington shouted, losing his composure.
That microsecond of hesitation was all Dad needed.
Dad didn't lunge at the men. He didn't try to fight a bullet. Instead, he kicked his heavy boot backward, striking the massive metal water trough sitting just outside Monarch’s stall.