Chapter 10 - The Master Card
By dawn, the gunfire had ceased, replaced by the heavy, rhythmic thrum of private security helicopters circling the estate and the flashing red and blue lights of clean-up crews hired to scrub the ballroom before the authorities could ever be notified.
Julian had left the safe room an hour prior to assess the casualties and secure the perimeter, leaving Elena and the sleeping twins locked safely inside. When the pneumatic steel door finally hissed open again, it wasn't Julian who stepped over the threshold.
It was Marcus.
He was wearing a fresh suit, not a single hair out of place, accompanied by two heavily armed guards who looked at Elena with cold, dead eyes. In his right hand, he carried a thick manila folder.
"Where is Julian?" Elena demanded, standing up immediately and positioning her body between Marcus and the sofa where Leo and Mia slept.
"Mr. Marchesi is currently at the harbor docks," Marcus said smoothly, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "We captured the leader of the Barone assault team attempting to flee via a speedboat. Julian is... handling the interrogation personally. Which gives us a window to resolve our own administrative issue."
He tossed the manila folder onto the metal table between them. It slid open, spilling out a stack of bank routing numbers, satellite photos of her sister’s hospital room, and printed transcripts of encrypted messages sent from Elena’s personal email account to the Barone syndicate’s primary paymaster.
"What is this garbage?" Elena asked, her voice shaking with anger. "I never sent those emails! You forged my IP address!"
"Of course I did," Marcus smiled, taking a step closer, his eyes gleaming with triumphant malice. "I also routed twenty thousand dollars from the Barone accounts directly into the same offshore account Julian used to pay your sister's hospital bill last week. On paper, Elena, you look like the most brilliant, highly paid corporate spy in syndicate history. You sold the school schedule, you provided the electrical schematics for the blackout last night, and you used the advance money to buy your sister a new kidney."
"Julian won't believe you," she spat. "He knows who I am!"
"Julian is currently looking at three dead sentries and a shattered ballroom," Marcus snapped, his pleasant demeanor vanishing into cold, predatory rage. "When I hand him this file this afternoon, his grief will turn into paranoia. He won't just fire you, Elena. He will put a bullet through your forehead in the courtyard to set an example for the rest of the staff."
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a clean, prepaid Canadian passport with her photograph already laminated inside, tossing it beside the forged evidence.
"You have one hour," Marcus whispered, leaning in so close she could smell the mint on his breath. "There is a car waiting at the west service gate. It will take you directly to Mass General, where an ambulance is already prepped to transport your sister across the border to a private facility in Montreal. Your bill is paid. Your new life is waiting."
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"And if I refuse to leave?" she challenged, tears of impotent rage stinging her eyes.
Marcus’s smile returned, colder than a winter grave. "Then I press a button on my phone, and the two sentries currently standing outside your sister's VIP hospital suite—men who answer to me, not Julian—will disconnect her dialysis machine and walk away. You can stay here and try to convince a paranoid warlord that you're innocent, or you can save your sister's life. Choose, governess."
