Chapter 16 - The Coldest Betrayal
The heavy library doors behind me clicked locked.
From behind the velvet curtains, three men stepped out, their silenced handguns trained directly on my back.
Marcus was downstairs in the grand foyer, disarmed by the estate security the moment we crossed the threshold.
I was completely alone in the room with the man who had destroyed my life.
"You think you're clever, Alistair," I said, keeping my breathing slow and controlled. "You think you can shoot me in your library and call it self-defense?"
Alistair chuckled softly, taking a sip of his scotch.
"Of course not, Julian. That would be messy."
He gestured toward the desk where a printed document rested beneath a crystal paperweight.
"You have a history of severe depression following your accident," Alistair explained in a soothing, paternal tone. "The stress of the gala, the betrayal of your cousins, the sudden physical strain... it proved too much."
"A suicide note," I said, looking at the papers.
"A tragic leap from the high cliffs into the rocky surf below," Alistair smiled. "The coast guard won't find your body for days. By then, Ares Holdings will execute its legal proxy claims and absorb Sterling Global entirely."
"You underestimated one thing, Alistair," I said, taking a deliberate step toward him.
The guards behind me raised their weapons, the red laser dots dancing across my back.
"And what is that, my boy?"
"I never go anywhere without Clara," I replied.
Alistair frowned slightly, confusion flickering across his aged features.
At that exact second, the massive crystal chandelier above the library shattered with an ear-splitting crack.
A tear-gas canister crashed through the stained-glass skylight, spewing thick, blinding white smoke across the room.
Gunfire erupted immediately.
I dropped to the floor, rolling beneath the heavy oak table as bullets splintered the mahogany wood.
Through the haze of smoke, the sound of glass shattering echoed from the balcony doors.
Tactical flashlights illuminated the blinding fog.
"Federal Bureau of Investigation! Drop your weapons!" a thunderous voice roared through the smoke.
Special agents clad in black tactical gear swarmed through the shattered terrace doors.
Alistair's guards were tackled to the ground before they could fire another round.
I scrambled to my feet, coughing through my sleeve, and stepped out of the smoke.
Alistair was still sitting in his wingback chair, his glass shattered on the floor, his face white with disbelief.
Behind the lead federal agent walked Clara, holding her tablet, flanked by Marcus Vance.
"Every word you spoke in this room was transmitted live to the United States Attorney's Office," Clara announced, holding up the audio feed.
Alistair Thorne looked at me, his hands finally shaking with helpless fury.
"You... you set me up," he sputtered.
May you like
"No, Alistair," I said, staring down at him with utter disgust. "I just accepted your invitation to dinner."
***
