How to Kill a Man in Thirty Seconds

PROLOGUE: When the Devil Takes Hold

DECEMBER 24TH, 07.00 AM

It was already well into the morning and he was running unusually late.

"Dad, breakfast is ready!" I bellowed, just as my father scurried downstairs, his greying hair askew and tie haphazardly strung around his neck. This morning, he was as usual in a well-pressed grey suit, but his warm brown eyes were dim with exhaustion.

He dumped his briefcase down on the breakfast table hastily before jerking his plate in my direction. I tossed a pancake onto it. "Thanks, honey," he muttered in reply before stuffing it greedily into his mouth. Despite the rush, my lips cracked into a smile. I knew my father totally dug my pancakes.

"Don't you look drained," I said, and my head shook disapprovingly even as I straightened his tie.

His face broke into a grateful smile, "I am, honey."

My father Anthony Green ran a business downtown, a construction company named Green Constructions, which had for over a decade been involved in the erection of many posh establishments. Inevitably, his schedule was constantly jam packed with something or the other. Of course, it didn't count that tomorrow is Christmas. No matter, I was not too displeased, since I knew he'll make it back in time for Christmas Eve; he always did. He wouldn't miss it for the world.

My gaze flickered up as a giant man with a scruff of light blonde hair and glistening blue eyes, entered through the front doorway. "Uncle Morgan!" I couldn't help the childish joy that rushed into my voice as I waved frantically.

I didn't quite know why I call him Uncle. I just had for as long as I could remember. He wasn't really my uncle. He was my father's best friend. I assumed I called him that because he had always felt like family.

A grin split my father's lips as he glanced back, "Morning, Morgan."

Only a barely-there grin lingered on the man's face as he sank onto a stool beside his friend. It did not surprise me; Morgan had never been a master of non-verbal expression.

"Consider this an early Christmas present, Charley," Morgan murmured softly now, hand reaching into his jacket pocket. A soft grin that would likely send shivers down a stranger's spine filled his face.

A laugh escaped my lips as my hand out darted out to grab the petite, finely wrapped box. Its expensive packaging rustled as I hugged it close, "Thank you!"

My father, who had been watching our exchange, laughed. His head shook disapprovingly, "You spoil her, my friend." Scraping the last remnants of his meal into his mouth, he rose from the table to leave, "where's your mother?"

"Upstairs with Lily."

"Susan!" he calls, "Honey, I'm leaving!"

No answer: I assume mum is as usual, too immersed with baby Lily to notice; all else ceases to exist for her when she is with my little sister.

"Just go, dad. You're late already."

Unperturbed, my father nods in understanding before grabbing his belongings and hurrying towards the front door. "Dad, wait!" I called, shoving his forgotten wallet into his outstretched hand as I reached him. His lips cracked into a smile again as he gave me a quick kiss on the head, "thanks, honey. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Nearly sprinting out, he all but leaped into his car, slamming the door after himself. As the engine revved to a start, I called one last time, "Don't get late coming back, dad! It's Christmas Eve!"

"I won't, honey! Wouldn't miss it for the world!" he called back in reply. A wide grin had lit up his face as his SUV pulled out of the driveway and around the corner.