Chapter 30 - The Cliffside Reckoning
In a final, desperate burst of madness, Marcus Sterling didn't surrender.
With a feral shriek, he grabbed a heavy sterling silver candelabra from the table and hurled it directly at the nearest officer, shattering the tactical formation. In the chaos of shouting and blinding flashlights, Marcus lunged toward the sliding glass terrace doors, shoving them open into the roaring storm.
"Marcus!" Daniel bellowed, sprinting after him into the driving rain.
"Daniel, no!" I screamed, bolting toward the terrace.
"Clara, stay back!" Sarah yelled, trying to catch my arm, but I ripped myself free and plunged into the downpour.
The wind was howling like a wounded beast, whipping rain into my face like needles. Lightning split the black sky, illuminating the jagged rocks sixty feet below the terrace cliffs.
At the edge of the stone balustrade, Marcus was scrambling toward the narrow escape path that led down to the private boat slip. But his polished leather dress shoes slipped on the wet granite. He stumbled, falling hard against the rusted iron railing.
Daniel caught him by the collar, hauling him backward onto the stone terrace before he could plunge over the side.
"Let me go, you bastard!" Marcus spat, blood leaking from a cut on his forehead as he thrashed wildly. "You should have burned with your father! I gave you everything! I made you who you are!"
Daniel held the older man down with one powerful hand, his dark hair plastered to his forehead by the torrential rain. His face was a mask of cold, ancient fury. He pulled Marcus up until their faces were inches apart.
"You didn't make me, Marcus," Daniel growled, his voice cutting through the roar of thunder. "You stole my name. You murdered my family. And you tried to take the woman I love."
Daniel shoved Marcus forcefully back onto the flat terrace flagstones just as Inspector Girard and three armed gendarmes breached the rain-swept deck. Within seconds, Marcus was pinned to the stone, his arms twisted behind his back as the cold steel of handcuffs snapped around his wrists.
"Marcus Sterling, you are under arrest," Girard recited loudly over the wind.
Marcus lay in the puddles, his face pressed against the stone. He looked up at Daniel, then shifted his venomous gaze to me.
"You think it's over, Clara?" Marcus wheezed, coughing up rainwater, his smile twisted and demonic. "You think you've won? Brandon was just the first pawn! You haven't seen the final will! You haven't seen what Charles buried in the foundation vaults!"
"Take him away," I commanded coldly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me waver.
The officers dragged Marcus Sterling to his feet, hauling his soaked, pathetic frame through the doors and out toward the waiting police vans.
The storm raged around us.
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On the open terrace, in the pouring rain, only Daniel and I remained.
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