If you don't shoot that monster by midnight, Arthur, I'll clear out your pension and fire you on the spot, my boss, Richard Callahan, barked across the estate desk.
The late morning sun beat down on the estate, but a cold knot settled in my stomach. Richard had no intention of listening to reason. His demand for a dead “wolf” was absolute.
I walked the perimeter near Martha and Leo’s cottage, my thoughts heavy. If I didn’t comply, I lost everything. But I couldn’t harm Barnaby.
Suddenly, a flash of movement caught my eye near the old timber yard shed. It was Caleb Myers, head of Richard’s private security detail, a man built like a brick wall and known for his unwavering loyalty to Richard.
He was wrestling a heavy, canvas-wrapped bundle from the back of his unmarked SUV.
The canvas shifted, revealing the glint of polished steel and dark wood. High-powered hunting rifles. Not the kind you used for deer.
I quickened my pace. “Caleb? What are you doing with those?”
He turned, startled, his hand instinctively going to the sidearm on his hip. His eyes narrowed when he saw it was me.
“Just doing my job, Arthur. Orders from above,” he grunted, hoisting another rifle out of the vehicle.
“Orders to hunt on the estate? We don’t have a hunting season right now.”
Caleb paused, a smirk forming on his face. He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and waved it.
“Special orders. Direct from Mr. Callahan himself. Written authority to use lethal force anywhere on the property perimeter. Effective immediately.”
My breath hitched. “Lethal force? For what?”
He looked me dead in the eye, his gaze chilling. “The wolf, Arthur. Mr. Callahan said you were too soft. Too old for the job.”
“He means Barnaby,” I stated, the words tasting like ash. “He knows it’s a rescue dog.”
Caleb shrugged, unaffected. “Dog, wolf, doesn’t matter. It’s an alleged menace, damaging property. My job is to neutralize the threat.”
He began loading a magazine into a rifle, the metallic click echoing in the quiet yard. “He wants it done before sundown.”
A profound sense of dread washed over me. Richard wasn’t just threatening me. He was going to have an innocent animal killed, and frame it as an animal control issue.
“This is wrong, Caleb,” I said, my voice low.
He chuckled, a rough, dry sound. “Wrong or right, Arthur, it’s a job. And Mr. Callahan pays well for jobs done right.”
He hefted the rifle, adjusting the scope. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a perimeter to sweep.”
He turned, heading towards the deep woods, the rifles glinting ominously under the afternoon sun. Richard was not just bypassing me; he was escalating the danger, putting Barnaby’s life directly in Caleb’s ruthless hands.
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