Chapter 7 - The Shadows Strike Back
The cold steel barrel of the suppressed pistol aimed squarely at my heart, but fear was a luxury I had buried five years ago in a cemetery in Queens.
"You think you can pull that trigger and walk out of this house, Daniel?" I asked, my voice unnervingly calm as I took another slow step forward.
"I run the waterfront now, Grant," Cross sneered, his finger applying initial pressure to the trigger. "The police are on my payroll, the district attorney owes me favors, and a blind man who accidentally shot himself in his study makes a wonderful headline."
"He's not blind anymore, Cross," a sharp, clear voice rang out from the shadows near the doorway.
Cross's head snapped toward the sound.
Hannah didn't flinch. With blinding speed, she whipped her arm back and hurled the heavy iron fireplace poker straight at Cross's face.
Cross instinctively jerked his head aside to dodge the flying iron bar. The heavy poker crashed into the mahogany bookshelf behind him, shattering a crystal vase into a thousand glittering shards. But that split-second distraction was all the opening I needed.
I lunged forward, closing the distance between us like a striking panther.
My hand clamped around the wrist of Cross's gun hand with bone-crushing force. I twisted his wrist upward with a violent, practiced torque. Cross let out a sharp, agonized cry as the cartilage in his wrist popped, and the suppressed pistol slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly onto the Persian rug.
Before Cross could recover, I drove my fist straight into his solar plexus. The impact knocked the wind out of him in a violent wheeze. He staggered backward, stumbling over the edge of the rug, and crashed hard against the heavy oak desk, sending pens, papers, and lamps flying in every direction.
Dr. Hale panicked. With a high-pitched squeal of terror, he turned and lunged for the double doors, desperately fumbling for the brass latch to escape.
"Oh no you don't," Hannah muttered. She sprinted across the room with astonishing athleticism, intercepting Hale before he could unlock the door. She grabbed the lapels of his expensive overcoat and slammed him backward against the oak panels with a resounding thud.
"Let me go! You crazy bitch, let me go!" Hale shrieked, flailing wildly.
I walked slowly over to where Cross was struggling to push himself up from the floor. My vision was still clearing, the edges of the room shifting from blurry shadows into stark, sharp reality. I could see the sweat on Cross's forehead, the fear in his eyes, the absolute destruction of the empire he thought he had stolen from me.
I reached down, grabbed Cross by the lapels of his tailored suit, and hoisted him effortlessly to his feet, slamming him back against the wall.
"You took everything from me," I whispered, my face inches from his. "My wife. My daughter. My sight. My life."
"Kill me, then," Cross wheezed, blood trickling from the corner of his lip. "If you kill me, you'll never see a dime of your assets back. The corporate accounts are locked behind my biometric encryption keys."
"Kill you?" I let out a dark, chilling laugh. "Death is too easy for an accountant, Daniel. You're going to spend the rest of your natural life in a maximum-security federal penitentiary. And every single day you sit in a concrete cell, you're going to know that Grant Mercer beat you in the dark."
I threw him across the room. Cross crashed into the bookshelf and slid unconscious onto the floor.
May you like
I turned around. Hannah was holding a terrified, whimpering Vernon Hale pinned firmly against the door.
"Hannah," I said, my voice steady, carrying the absolute authority of a man who had reclaimed his throne. "Call the federal marshals. And tell Dr. Sandra Vance at Columbia Presbyterian to dispatch an ambulance with federal security escorts. Our guests have a very long, very permanent journey ahead of them."
