“Dean Carter,” Marcus’s voice boomed, chilling the air in the room.

Dean threw his hands up, palms out, backing toward the staircase. “Wait, wait! Marcus, man, you’re overreacting. This is a private matter. Just a minor family misunderstanding.”

Marcus didn’t argue. He reached into his tactical vest, retrieved his secured phone, and tapped the screen.

The audio from my panic button blasted through the quiet house.

“All I asked was where your paycheck went.” My voice, small. The sickening, wet THUD of bone against glass. “You embarrass me in my own house.” Dean’s snarl.

“Clean this mess up.” Linda’s cold indifference. “Don’t let her stress you out, son.” Frank’s enabling laughter.