I pulled back the hammer of my colt and pressed the muzzle against Stanley’s temple.
“I’ll tell you when you’ve had enough. Now, drink.”
Stanley took another swig as I continued, “Let’s talk about your friend, Gary Barnes.”
By this time, Stanley was halfway through the label, so I had him cork up the bottle.
“Take these,” I said, handing him a pen and piece of letterhead paper from his home office.
“What for?”
“Because, genius. I want you to write something down. You’re going to write an apology.”
He frowned. “W—what?”
“I don’t remember you stuttering so fucking much the last times we spoke. Is something the matter with your speech as well as your hearing?” I pressed the gun hard against the top of his head.
“Ow, okay, I’ll write whatever you want,” he whimpered. “Just p—please don’t kill me.”
“I promise I’ll let you live if you do exactly what I tell you to do. Okay?”
Stanley nodded. Tears and snot streaming down his face.
“Earlier tonight, Gary Barnes came into Rowan Samuel’s house with the intent to rape and kill her. The whole thing was supposed to look like some random home invasion. A robbery gone wrong. You paid him to do that, didn’t you?”
Stanley nodded.
“Even after I told you to leave her alone?”
“It’s fifty-million dollars, man. Don’t you understand? That money rightfully belongs to me and the only way I can get to it is if Rowan Samuels is dead.”
“Yeah, about that. How did you even know about the fifty-mil? Didn’t your father’s attorney say it was ten-grand?”
“Lining the pockets of an attorney is always easy, especially when you promise them a cut of the pie.”
“Ah,” I said. “So how much of the pie did you promise Acker?”
“Ten percent, but I’ll cut you in for twenty if you let me go.”
I chuckled without mirth. “Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ moron, Stanley.”
“What is it to you, anyway? You didn’t even know that bitch existed until I tried to hire you.”
“I told you to stay away from her and now you’re gonna apologize like a good little boy.” I nodded to the paper and pen. “Now, write.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Keep it simple,” I replied. “Just write ‘I’m sorry,’ and sign your name at the bottom.”
Once done, I had him stand up and place the note on the nightstand while I grabbed my duffel bag.
“Alright. Let’s move,” I said before leading him out of the bedroom, through the hallway and to the grand staircase, which overlooked the foyer.
I opened the duffel and handed Stanley one end of the heavy nylon rope I’d grabbed from my workbench at Rowan’s place. I was in the middle of installing the swing and was using the rope as temporary support lines, so I’d know how much chain I’d need.
“Rope? What’s this for?” Stanley asked nervously.
“Tie that end of that rope right here,” I said, motioning to the stair railing.