Chapter 7 - The Tides of Justice
Daniel’s eyes dilated in pure, unadulterated terror as he watched the black book hovering over the dark ocean.
"Don't!" Daniel shrieked, taking another half-step forward, his hand twitching toward his pocket. "Claire, if that ledger hits the salt water, the ink will dissolve in thirty seconds! That book contains four years of non-profit clearance documentation! Without it, the IRS and the DOJ will liquidate every asset we own!"
"I know," I said calmly. "That’s why I’m holding it."
"What do you want?" Daniel rasped, his voice breaking. "Money? Power? I can transfer ten million dollars to a trust in your name right now! We can leave Boston! We can start over!"
"I want Emily," I said.
The silence that fell over the cliff edge was heavy, broken only by the crash of the waves far below.
Daniel stared at me, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. "Emily? You... you’re doing all of this for her?"
"She’s a human being, Daniel," I said, my voice dropping into a register of quiet, absolute disgust. "You reduced your own sister to a line item on a medical ledger. Bring her out here. Bring her out here right now, or this book goes into the Atlantic."
Before Daniel could respond, a cold, harsh voice echoed from the thicket behind the guards.
"She isn't going anywhere, Claire."
Richard Mercer stepped out of the pine trees.
He was holding a second weapon—a heavy, double-barreled hunting shotgun. His face was scratched from the glass in the basement, dark blood crusting along his jawline. He looked like a wounded, dangerous animal that had realized its trap was closing.
"Shoot her arm, Lawson," Richard ordered the lead security guard coldly. "She won't drop the book if her nerve center is dead. Recover the ledger before the police arrive."
The lead guard hesitated, looking at Richard, then back at me. "Sir... she’s standing on a wet ledge. If I shoot her, she falls. The book goes with her."
"I SAID SHOOT HER!" Richard screamed, raising the shotgun toward my chest.
Suddenly, from high above the tree line, a blinding, white-hot spotlight cut down through the coastal fog, illuminating the cliff, the guards, and the Mercer family in a beam of light ten times brighter than the estate searchlights.
The roaring, thunderous beat of heavy rotor blades shattered the night sky.
WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP.
A massive, dark blue Federal Bureau of Investigation tactical helicopter descended over the tree line, hovering fifty feet above the cliff edge. The downwash from the powerful twin engines flattened the pine trees, sending a hurricane of pine needles, dirt, and sea spray blasting across the crag.
Over an amplified, electronic bullhorn, a voice boomed across the estate:
"FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION! DROP YOUR WEAPONS IMMEDIATELY! DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND GET ON THE GROUND!"
Through the trees behind the estate, blue and red emergency lights began flashing by the dozens. The iron front gates were breached with a deafening CRASH as two heavily armored FBI BearCat vehicles rammed through the stone pillars, accelerating up the long driveway toward the main house.
The guards dropped their flashlights instantly, throwing their hands high above their heads and falling to their knees on the wet grass.
Daniel fell to his knees beside them, burying his face in his mud-stained hands, weeping hysterically as the spotlight held him pinned against the earth.
Only Richard remained standing.
He stared up at the roaring helicopter, his shotgun still raised, his dark eyes wide with a terrifying, hopeless rage.
"Drop the weapon, Richard!" I yelled over the deafening roar of the rotor blades. "It's over!"
Richard slowly lowered his gaze from the sky to my face. He looked at the black ledger in my hands. He looked at the blue lights flickering through his ancestral oak trees.
"It’s never over," Richard whispered.
He raised the shotgun toward his own chin.
"NO!" I screamed.
Before he could pull the trigger, two tactical flash-bang grenades launched from the FBI helicopter exploded above his head with a blinding FLASH-CRACK.
The shockwave knocked Richard off his feet. The shotgun flew from his hands, clattering over the stone edge and tumbling down into the ocean below. Four FBI SWAT operators rappelled down lines from the hovering helicopter, hitting the granite ledge with silent, lethal precision, tackling Richard to the ground and pinning his arms behind his back in heavy steel cuffs.
Special Agent Vance stepped out from the pine thicket, his weapon holstered, pulling his windbreaker collar up against the rotor wash.
He walked past the groveling guards, past Daniel, and stopped three feet from where I stood on the crag.
He looked at me, then at the black leather audit book tucked securely beneath my arm.
"Claire Hayes?" Agent Vance asked, his voice calm and professional.
May you like
"Yes, Agent Vance," I gasped, my chest heaving as the adrenaline finally began to ebb from my muscles.
"Your colleague Maya gave us a hell of an earful," Vance said, offering a small, respectful nod. "Step off that ledge, Miss Hayes. Let's go get the rest of your evidence."
