Chapter 9 - The Fall of the House of Cards
The hitman didn't drop his weapon; he raised it toward the floodlights. A single shot rang out from a SWAT officer, hitting the hitman in the shoulder. He collapsed, dropping his gun.
Mark didn't run. He stayed curled on the wet pavement in a fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably as heavily armed officers swarmed the pier. They hauled him to his feet, slapping heavy steel handcuffs over his wrists.
I stepped out of the command vehicle with Arthur and walked toward the pier. Mark looked up, his face pale and pathetic under the harsh lights.
“Elena,” he wept. “Please. I'm your husband.”
I walked right up to him. I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I just looked at him with absolute, freezing pity.
“You are nothing,” I said softly. “You are a ghost. And we will never think of you again.”
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I turned my back on him as the police shoved him into the back of a cruiser. The flash drive secured his conviction. The Volkov syndicate was raided the next morning based on the digital trail I had uncovered. Mark’s life was over.
But ours was just beginning.
