Chapter 9 - Ashes to Ashes
A muffled, concussive THUMP vibrated through the floorboards, followed by the screeching wail of the fire alarms.
Elena’s tablet flashed red, a hundred error messages cascading across the screen. The encrypted servers were melting into slag. Her millions, her leverage, her power—gone in a matter of seconds.
“No!” she screamed, her composure shattering completely. She lunged at me like a feral animal.
At that moment, the doors burst open. Four armed security contractors flooded the room, their assault rifles raised.
“Drop the weapon!” the lead guard shouted.
“Shoot him! Kill him!” Elena shrieked, pointing at me.
But then, a new sound cut through the chaos. The unmistakable, rhythmic chopping of helicopter rotors outside. Heavy spotlights cut through the massive windows, blinding everyone in the room. Megaphones crackled to life over the howling wind.
“This is the Royal Canadian Mounted Police! The building is surrounded! Drop your weapons!”
Marcus had delivered. Detective Vance had coordinated with the RCMP based on the exhumation evidence and the location data I had left on a scheduled email for Vance.
The private security guards, realizing they were outgunned by a federal tactical team, slowly lowered their rifles and raised their hands. They were mercenaries, not martyrs.
Richard looked at the guards, then at Elena, and finally at me. He realized the game was over. He made a desperate, stupid move. He grabbed a pistol from the closest guard's holster and aimed it at me.
“If I’m going to prison, you’re coming with me!” he roared.
A single shot rang out.
Richard froze, dropping the gun. He fell to his knees, clutching his chest, before collapsing onto the designer rug.
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I hadn't fired. I looked over. Elena stood there, holding a small silver derringer, smoke curling from the barrel. She had shot her own father to save herself, hoping to claim self-defense.
The RCMP tactical unit breached the doors seconds later, laser sights painting the room red. They slammed Elena to the floor, slapping cuffs on her wrists as she screamed about her rights, about her money, about how it was all a mistake.
