Chapter 9 - The Reckoning
Before Bell’s finger could fully depress the trigger, the overhead lights in the entire penthouse suite flickered and violently blew out in a shower of electrical sparks.
Darkness.
Bell cursed loudly, swinging the barrel of the gun toward the dark doorway. "What the—"
It wasn't a random power surge. Down in the armored SUV parked outside, Hannah Mercer had followed Vincent’s backup instructions precisely. When the thirty-minute mark hit and Vincent hadn't returned, she had popped open the secure glove compartment, pulled out the encrypted military-grade signal jammer Vincent kept for emergency extractions, and activated the high-frequency EMP pulse designed to fry local electronic systems within a fifty-meter radius.
In the pitch-black office, Bell’s weapon lost its digital safety lock with a mechanical click.
Vincent didn't hesitate. Years of underground combat training took over in a fraction of a second. He launched himself across the room in the direction of Bell’s voice, crashing into the doctor with the force of a freight train.
The revolver discharged harmlessly into the ceiling plaster, sending a shower of white dust down onto the rug.
Vincent slammed Bell against the mahogany desk, wrenching the weapon from his grip and tossing it across the room. He pinned the older man by the lapels of his lab coat, lifting him clear off the floor with a roar of pure, unadulterated vengeance.
"You took my wife!" Vincent shouted, slamming Bell back against the desk again. "You stole four years of my son's voice! You turned my home into a prison!"
"Vincent... stop..." Bell choked out, his face turning purple as oxygen was squeezed from his lungs. "The files... the financial records... they're all on the server... you kill me, and you'll never find the offshore accounts..."
"I don't give a damn about the money," Vincent hissed, his face inches from Bell's. "I have my son back."
The office door kicked open, and three heavy-set men in tactical black gear—Vincent’s elite personal security detail, alerted by the emergency panic button Hannah had triggered—poured into the room with tactical flashlights blazing.
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"Secure him," Vincent ordered, his voice echoing like thunder through the suite. He released his grip, letting Bell slump unceremoniously onto the marble floor like a broken rag doll. "Hand him over to federal marshals on domestic terrorism and homicide charges. And copy every single file off that server."
Vincent turned on his heel, walking out of the ruined office without looking back.
