Chapter 6 - The Trap Collapses
"Where is our son, Sarah?" David asked softly, standing up from his chair. The suppressor’s barrel remained leveled directly at my chest.
"Somewhere you will never reach him again," I said, stepping further into the room, keeping my posture balanced, refusing to show even a flicker of fear.
David chuckled—a dry, raspy sound that made my skin crawl. "You think you're playing a game here? You think Marcus Vance is your savior? Marcus is a broken man driven by revenge. He’s using you as bait, Sarah."
"He saved Leo’s life!" I snapped, my voice ringing out across the vast penthouse. "While you were kicking his unconscious body on our kitchen floor like he was garbage!"
David’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold, clinical stare. "It was business. Nothing personal. I loved you, Sarah—in my own way. But you were a liability. Your family’s trust fund was the final piece of a puzzle I’ve been building for a decade. Do you have any idea what forty-two million dollars buys in a country without extradition laws?"
"It buys you a bullet," I said.
David’s eyebrow twitched slightly. "What?"
"Did you really think I came up here alone just to confront you, David?" I asked, a slow smile dawning on my face as I glanced down at my wrist.
My watch clicked twice—a signal from Marcus.
Suddenly, the glass walls behind David shattered in a deafening cascade of explosions as three flashbang grenades burst through the floor-to-ceiling windows, blinding the room in searing white light and thunderous sound.
David screamed, throwing his hands over his eyes and firing two wild shots into the ceiling as he stumbled backward over his desk.
I dropped to the floor, rolling behind a leather couch to protect my eyes and ears.
Through the haze of smoke and glittering glass, the heavy oak doors of the private elevator burst open. Four men in unmarked black tactical gear poured into the room, their suppressed submachine guns aimed with lethal precision.
Behind them stepped a tall, elderly man in a bespoke three-piece suit, holding an ivory-handled walking stick.
It was Viktor Petrov—the head of the syndicate David had stolen the forty-two million dollars from.
"David," Petrov’s deep, accented voice cut through the ringing in the room like a broadsword. "You have been very busy stealing from your friends."
David was on his knees, blood trickling from a scratch on his forehead caused by the flying glass. His gun had been kicked away by one of Petrov’s operatives. He looked at Petrov in pure, unadulterated terror—a look I had never seen on his face in ten years of marriage.
"Viktor... wait!" David stammered, his hands raised in desperate surrender. "I can explain! The ledger... it was a mistake! An internal corruption in the software!"
Petrov walked slowly toward the desk, stopping just inches from where David knelt. He reached out with his walking stick, using the tip to tilt David’s chin upward.
"Software corruption does not buy private jets in Panama, Mr. Miller," Petrov said softly. "We received your complete, unencrypted transfer logs five minutes ago—sent directly from your home network by a very clever woman."
David’s eyes snapped to me as I stood up from behind the couch, holding the black flash drive Marcus had given me.
"You..." David whispered, his face draining of all color. "You sent it..."
"I didn't just send the ledger, David," I said, looking down at him with utter disgust. "I sent them the offshore routing numbers, the passwords to your Panama accounts, and the detailed breakdown of how you planned to blame Petrov’s organization for my murder."
Petrov turned his head slightly, bowing with cold chivalry toward me. "Mrs. Miller. You have done my organization a great service. Your husband’s debt to us is now cleared by the total recovery of our capital."
"And what happens to him?" I asked flatly.
Petrov’s smile was terrifying in its complete lack of emotion. "That is between your husband and my logistics team. He will spend the remainder of his days paying off the interest in a location far removed from civil society."
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"No! Please! Sarah, save me!" David pleaded, reaching toward me as two of Petrov’s men seized his arms, hauling him to his feet. "I'm your husband! The father of your child!"
"You ceased being my husband the moment you poisoned my son's bread," I said cold as ice. "And as far as Leo is concerned... his father died tonight."