Chapter 18 - Checkmate
Arthur placed his finger on the trigger.
WEE-OO-WEE-OO-WEE-OO.
The deafening wail of sirens cut through the storm. Suddenly, the sky above them erupted in blinding light. Two massive, black helicopters with searchlights descended from the clouds, hovering directly over the roof. The wind from the rotors nearly knocked Arthur off his feet.
"FBI! DROP YOUR WEAPONS! DROP YOUR WEAPONS NOW!" a voice boomed over a megaphone.
Arthur froze. He looked down at the courtyard below. Dozens of heavily armored tactical vehicles were smashing through the asylum’s gates, dozens of federal agents pouring out with assault rifles raised.
Clara sat up, coughing, a bloody smile spreading across her face. "I told you, Arthur. I’m an investigative journalist. The moment I found that ledger, I transmitted photographs of every page to my editor and the FBI field office via my encrypted phone. You’re done."
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Arthur looked at the gun in his hand, then at the federal snipers aiming laser sights at his chest from the helicopters. The realization hit him like a physical blow. His empire, his money, his power—it was all gone.
Slowly, his hands shaking, Arthur Vance dropped the silver revolver onto the wet concrete and fell to his knees.
