Chapter 8 - The Sound of Steel
Before Pierce could clear his holster, the guard on his left moved with terrifying, unbelievable speed.
A heavy iron grip clamped down on Pierce’s wrist, twisting it violently downward. A sickening CRACK echoed through the dining room as Pierce’s wrist snapped. The pistol tumbled from his useless fingers, clattering loudly across the parquet floor until it stopped against the base of Emma’s chair.
Pierce let out a high-pitched, agonized scream, falling to his knees as the second guard grabbed him by the hair and forced his face flat against the cold wooden floorboards.
Emma didn't scream. She didn't run. She stood beside her chair, her chest heaving, staring at the pistol resting near her shoes, then up at Adrian Voss.
The deaf mob boss hadn't flinched. He hadn't even moved in his chair when the gun was drawn. He sat at the head of the table, watching Pierce squirm on the floor with the cold, detached interest of a man watching an insect die.
Voss raised his hand and made a brief sign to the guard holding Pierce down.
The guard reached into Pierce’s jacket, pulled out an encrypted smartphone, a ring of master security keys, and a thick envelope stuffed with cashier’s checks. He laid them all on the table in front of Voss.
Voss picked up the encrypted phone. He tapped the screen twice, brought up the recent message logs, and held it beneath the light.
The last text message sent from the phone, time-stamped at 1:15 a.m., read:
TO: MORAN CLEAN THE SERVER OUT OF THE DINER. BRING HER TO LAKE FOREST. IF SHE TALKS LATER, THE ACCIDENT ACCELERATES.
The entire plot was laid bare on the digital screen.
Frank Moran hadn't just been trying to help Emma pay her mother’s medical bills. Frank had sold her out to Pierce to cover his own debt, fully aware that Emma was not expected to walk out of the Lake Forest estate alive.
A cold, hard knot formed in Emma’s stomach. The diner she had spent five years serving... Frank, who had known her since she was twenty-two... they had traded her life for a wire transfer and a wiped slate.
Voss set the phone down. He looked at Nolan Pierce, who was weeping on the floor, holding his broken wrist to his chest.
Voss didn't offer a single word of judgment. He didn't issue a dramatic threat. He simply pointed toward the side service door—the door that led down to the estate’s soundproof basement levels.
The two guards lifted Pierce off the floor by his armpits, dragging him kicking and screaming out of the room. The heavy mahogany doors closed behind them, sealing off his cries completely.
The dining room was quiet once again.
Mrs. Vance stepped forward with a damp linen cloth, silently wiped down the spot on the table where the folder had rested, and stepped back into the shadows as if nothing extraordinary had occurred.
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Adrian Voss turned his pale gray eyes back onto Emma.
He picked up the gold pen one final time.
