Chapter 8 - The Weight of Blood
“You’re insane, Marcus,” I said, stepping between him and the Maybach, ignoring the weapon pointed at my chest. “The federal grand jury is already issuing indictments. You can’t outrun the DOJ.”
“The DOJ?” Marcus laughed bitterly, the sound echoing harshly off the frozen stone walls of the park path. “Arthur, you spent twenty years staring at spreadsheets while your mother bought half the federal bench in this district. Do you really think a few indictments are going to stop a multi-billion-dollar liquidation?”
He motioned with his rifle toward the armed operatives behind him. “Grab the binder. And take the girl and the kids as leverage. Once Arthur signs the secondary offshore releases under my supervision, we’ll let them breathe.”
The two masked gunmen advanced toward the Maybach, their heavy boots crunching over the frost.
Inside the vehicle, Madeline’s hand slammed against the interior glass. She pressed her body over the three infants, shielding them with her own frame, her face pale with a terrifying, unyielding resolve.
I looked back at Richard. The master Wall Street liquidator met my eyes for a single heartbeat. There was no panic in his gaze—only a cold, synchronized understanding.
While Marcus was distracted, keeping his weapon trained primarily on Richard, my fingers slipped quietly into the side pocket of my abandoned cashmere coat lying in the dirt near my feet.
My encrypted phone was still inside.
The emergency panic protocol I had coded into the hardware during my hostile takeover days hadn't been wiped when I signed the asset transfer. It was hardwired to stream real-time GPS coordinates and encrypted audio directly to the federal cyber-crimes division.
My thumb pressed down on the hidden ridge of the casing, holding it down for three long seconds until I felt the faint, structural buzz of the hardware vibrating against my palm.
Transmission active.
May you like
Marcus noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye. His head whipped around, his gun swinging toward my face. “Drop whatever is in your pocket, Arthur, or I swear to God I’ll put a bullet through your shoulder!”
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