Federal healthcare auditors froze the pain clinic’s controlled substance logs.

Charles Sterling, arrogant to the core, spent thousands hiring private investigators to find an imaginary corporate rival he assumed was mounting a hostile takeover.

He was blissfully blind to the fact that his former son-in-law was dismantling his existence from a cabin twenty miles away.

Rowan and Jaxson were not men of intellect. As the pressure mounted and federal injunctions froze their trust funds, they reverted to the only language they knew.

Acting on a tip from a paid informant, they found us. At 2:00 a.m., the headlights of their lifted truck cut through the trees. They kicked the cabin door off its hinges and stormed into the dark living room carrying rusted steel pipes.

Bruno Briggs was waiting in the pitch black.