My husband shoved me, shattering the bathroom mirror. His mother sneered, “Clean up this disgusting mess.” But as I fell, my husband roared, “What’s in your pocket?!” The red LED of my federal distress fob pulsed. Denied the third click, I threw myself onto the broken glass, and…

CRACK echoed through the floorboards. It wasn’t a knock. It was the sound of a steel battering ram completely obliterating the reinforced mahogany front door. The sound of heavy tactical boots swarming the marble foyer sounded like a localized earthquake.

“FBI! GET ON THE GROUND! SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!” voices roared from the first floor.

Vance’s breathing continue reading …