Chapter 15 - The Ambush
I stepped toward the safe, keeping my eyes fixed on Julian. I reached out, my fingers closing around the amber glass bottle.
The label read: *Digoxin Compounded Capsules – Specially Formulated for Mara Hale.* Underneath, in faint blue ink, were two sets of latent fingerprint dust from an old police test: Julian Vance’s prints.
"You kept it," I whispered, disgust twisting my stomach. "You sick bastard. You actually kept the bottle."
"It reminded me of what it takes to survive," Julian sneered, the fear in his face hardening into vicious hatred. "In this world, Robert, predators eat. Herbivores get eaten. You and your little boy are herbivores. You were born to be stepped on."
Suddenly, the heavy door behind me clicked shut.
I turned.
The security guard who had carried the boxes down had returned. He was six-foot-three, built like a brick wall, and in his right hand was a silenced semi-automatic pistol pointed directly at my chest.
"Put the bottle back in the safe, old man," the guard said, his voice flat, emotionless.
Julian let out a long, ragged exhale and burst into laughter—a harsh, triumphant bray that echoed off the glass walls.
"You really thought you were John Wayne, didn't you, Rob?" Julian mocked, walking over to his desk and pouring himself two fingers of scotch from a crystal decanter. "Did you honestly think you could walk into my corporate headquarters and just walk out with evidence? You’re a carpenter. You swing a hammer. You don't have the brains to play this game."
Julian took a sip of scotch, looking at the guard.
"Make it look like a burglary gone wrong, Frank. Shoot him through the heart. Then take him down in the service elevator and dump his body in the river with the shredder waste. Nobody will ever find him."
"Understood, Mr. Vance," Frank said, raising the suppressed pistol, aligning the front sight with my breastbone.
I gripped the pry bar in my right hand, tensing my legs. I was sixty-two years old. My knees ached. My back was stiff. But behind my eyes, I saw Ethan lying in that hospital bed, broken and bleeding, holding my wrist and begging me to listen.
I wasn't dying in this room. Not tonight.
"Julian," I said calmly.
"Any last words, old friend?" Julian smirked.
"Look at the red light on my lapel."
Julian frowned, his eyes dropping to the small, round plastic pin I had clipped to my yellow work vest.
A tiny green wire ran beneath the fabric down to my tool bag.
"What is that?" Julian asked, his smirk faltering.
May you like
"A live feed," I said. "Audio and video. Detective Marlow is sitting in a surveillance van across the street with two federal prosecutors and a SWAT tactical squad. Say hello to the jury, Julian."
***
