The Useless Son-In-Law Is A System God Of War

Chapter Seven: The Fallout

The Stratton estate was cordoned off by dawn. Blue and red lights washed over the snow like watercolor stains. 

Reporters huddled behind yellow tape, cameras flashing, breath misting in the frigid Milwaukee air.

“Police are still trying to determine what caused the electrical failure and injuries at the Stratton residence late last night,” a young reporter said into her mic, hair whipped by the wind. 

“Sources say the family is refusing to comment, but witnesses claim there were… unusual lights.”

A camera drone buzzed overhead, capturing wide shots of the dark mansion. For all its luxury, it looked like a haunted shell.

Detective Elena Brooks stepped out of her unmarked sedan, clutching a paper cup of coffee. 

She hated winter, hated rich people’s scandals, and most of all, hated that her first case of the year smelled like nonsense. A rookie officer jogged up. “Detective, you’ll want to see this.”

Inside the mansion, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and fear. The fireplace was cold, its marble frame cracked. “What do we have?” she asked.

The rookie pointed toward the living room. “No signs of forced entry. All the staff say they blacked out after the power flickered. Woke up in the basement an hour later. Nobody saw who did it.”

Elena crouched near the TV. The screen was dark, but a faint static hiss came from the speakers. “And the Strattons?”

“In shock,” the rookie said. “The son claims he was attacked by… blue lightning. Paramedics found no burns. Just a faint electrical signature on the skin, like static discharge, but stronger.”

She gave him a look. “You been watching too much sci-fi?”

He shrugged. “That’s what the lab guy said.”

Elena sighed and stood. “Where’s Harold Stratton?”

“In the study.”

She found him sitting behind his desk, pale and hollow-eyed. The man who once ran one of Wisconsin’s most powerful investment firms now looked decades older.

“Mr. Stratton,” Elena said gently. “I’m Detective Brooks. I understand you’ve had a rough night.”

He didn’t look up. “You can’t help me.”

“I can try,” she said, taking a seat. “Why don’t you start with what happened?”

Harold’s eyes flicked up at her, bloodshot, trembling. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

He exhaled, hands shaking slightly. “He came back. My son-in-law. Landon Hale.”

Elena flipped open her notepad. “Your… ex-son-in-law, correct?”

Harold nodded. “He walked in here last night. Calm. Collected. And then… everything fell apart. The lights. The air. He said he was done being humiliated.”

She scribbled. “Did he threaten you?”

“Not in words,” Harold said. “It was like he didn’t have to.”

“What do you mean?”

Harold swallowed hard. “You ever seen someone look at you like they’re reading your thoughts? Like they already know what you’re going to say before you do?”

Elena paused. “That’s a strange way to put it.”

He leaned forward, voice trembling. “Detective, he made the house talk.”

“Elaborate.”

“The intercom,” Harold whispered. “It spoke with his voice. The security system shut down on its own. My son, ” His voice broke. “My son collapsed. Glowing veins. I thought he was dying.”

Elena closed her notebook. “Mr. Stratton, with respect, could this be stress? You said you were in shock.”

He slammed his fist on the desk. “It happened!”

The rookie appeared in the doorway, wide-eyed. “Detective? You need to see this.”

They led her to the security room, a wall of monitors, all frozen mid-frame. Every screen showed static, except one. On it, faint white text flickered against black: Phase Two: Judgment. Pending.

Elena frowned. “You said the system was offline?”

“It is,” the technician said. “No power feed, no wireless signal, nothing. It’s like… something burned the data into the glass.”

“Could it be vandalism?”

He shook his head. “Not unless the vandal used code. Whatever this is, it’s running on ghost voltage. There’s no power source left.”

Elena stared at the words a long moment, then she exhaled and said, “Get this screen to forensics.”

By noon, the story was everywhere. “Billionaire Harold Stratton’s Home Attacked, Possible Domestic Feud Turns Bizarre.”

“Sources Say Ex-Son-in-Law May Have Been Present During Incident.”

“Witnesses Report ‘Lights’ and ‘Humming Sounds’ During Blackout.”

Every news outlet from Madison to Chicago picked it up. Conspiracy forums went wild. “EMP test gone wrong?”

“Secret government tech?”

“Was this the same guy who disappeared from the Stratton Gala?”

The name Landon Hale began to circulate, not as a person, but as a myth. The man who humiliated the Strattons.

The ghost who shut down a mansion. The “Blue-Eyed Phantom of Milwaukee.”

Elena sat at her desk late that night, reading through the preliminary reports. Every camera feed had been wiped clean. 

Every electrical device in the house showed a synchronized pulse at 2:17 a.m., a single-second blackout, identical to a small EMP burst.

Except there had been no external source. Her phone buzzed. Unknown number. She hesitated, then answered. “Brooks.”

A woman’s voice came through, soft and calm. “Detective. I hear you’re looking into the Strattons.”

“Who is this?”

“Someone who can tell you that what you’re investigating isn’t just a domestic dispute.”

Elena frowned. “And what’s your connection?”

“Let’s just say,” the voice replied, “I knew Landon Hale before he disappeared. And if you value your sanity, stop looking.”

The line went dead. Elena stared at her phone, pulse quickening. She tried tracing the call, nothing. Unregistered, scrubbed.

She leaned back, rubbing her temples. “What are you mixed up in, Hale?”

Across town, in a dim safehouse near Lake Michigan, Landon watched the same news report on an old TV. 

The glow of the screen reflected in his calm, unreadable eyes. Claire stood nearby, arms crossed. “You really had to make the house talk?”

He didn’t answer. “People think you’re some kind of ghost now,” she said, half amused, half worried. “They’re saying your name like it’s a curse.”

Landon finally looked at her. “Let them.”

She studied him. “You’re enjoying this.”

He gave a faint, cold smile. “I’m just teaching them what it feels like to be powerless.”

Outside, the lake wind howled, carrying snow across the dark horizon. The world had started whispering his name, and Landon Hale was only getting started.