Chapter 39 - The Iron Grip
The silver revolver slipped from Daniel’s trembling fingers, clattering uselessly against the wet floorboards.
He knelt in the center of the lantern room, looking up at me through streaks of cheap cosmetic cream and blood. The wind tore through the broken windows, howling like a chorus of phantoms, blowing the heavy white silk of my dress around me like wings of fire.
"Serena..." he whimpered, holding up his hands. His voice was completely stripped of bravado, reduced to the sniveling, desperate coward he had always been beneath his bespoke suits. "Serena, please. Think about what we built. We were partners. We can take the seventy million... we can disappear together. I’ll leave Elena... I’ll give you everything..."
From her chair behind him, Elena let out a ragged, hysterical laugh through her swollen mouth. "He’s lying to you, Serena! He told his buyers he was going to toss your body into the reef rocks so the sharks would eat the evidence! Kill him! Kill him before he kills us both!"
"Shut your mouth!" Daniel roared, turning blindly toward Elena, his fist clenching as if to strike her.
*BANG.*
I fired a single round into the floor, three inches from Daniel’s right knee. The ricochet sparked brilliantly against the iron plate, sending a spray of metal dust into the air.
Daniel froze, a high-pitched squeal escaping his throat as he fell back onto his elbows, trembling violently.
"Don't move," I said, my voice dead, level, absolute. "The camera is still rolling, Daniel. Look at it."
Daniel blinked against the stinging chemical burn of the makeup, turning toward the red recording light on the broadcast tripod.
"Say hello to your board of directors," I told him, stepping forward until the shadow of my white gown fell completely over his face. "Say hello to the United States Marshals. Say hello to Marcus Kane’s creditors. Clara just transferred the decrypted ledger of your shell companies—every offshore bribe, every kickback, every forged signature you used to steal Harbor House—onto the public record."
"You... you destroyed us," Daniel breathed, tears cutting clean paths through the foundation caked onto his cheeks. "They will kill me... the syndicate will kill me..."
"No," I replied, tilting my head. "The syndicate won't get the chance. You belong to the federal penitentiary now."
Heavy, rhythmic footsteps pounded up the final iron stairs.
The hatch flew open. Julian stepped into the storm, drenched in rain, his rifle held at the low-ready, his chest plate streaked with gunpowder. His sharp eyes scanned the room in half a second, taking in the broken glass, Daniel on his knees, Elena tied to the chair, and me standing unharmed with the smoking carbon pistol in my hand.
Julian lowered his weapon. A faint, wolfish smile touched the corners of his lips.
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"The extraction boat is sunk," Julian said calmly, his deep voice cutting through the roar of the gale. "The perimeter is secure. Coast Guard cutters are three minutes out."
Daniel bowed his head against the cold wet iron floor, weeping uncontrollably into his hands.
