Chapter 17 - The Ghost of Arthur Vance
"Drop the weapon, Vance!" Marcus shouted, his tactical flashlight aimed directly at Vance’s eyes, illuminating the barrel of Marcus’s own sidearm.
Vance didn't flinch. He didn't even squint against the blinding tactical light. Instead, three more men in black tactical gear descended the stairs behind him, their assault rifles raised, lazers painting red dots across Marcus’s chest and Graham’s shoulders.
"Captain Marcus Reed, formerly of the State Special Investigations Unit," Vance remarked with chilling familiarity. "A very impressive pension you're risking for a broken family. You are outgunned, outpositioned, and buried twenty feet beneath a house scheduled for demolition in six hours."
Vance shifted his gaze to Graham, ignoring Marcus entirely. "Graham. I must say, you were a colossal disappointment as a mark. When Vanessa brought you into the fold, I anticipated a man of grander ambition. Instead, you threw away a ten-billion-dollar empire to play suburban house with a disgraced schoolteacher."
"I built an honest life, Vance," Graham retorted, stepping squarely in front of me, using his broader frame to shield my body from the laser sights. "Something a dead man running from federal warrants will never understand."
"A dead man?" Vance chuckled, taking a slow step forward. "My dear boy, death is merely a tax shelter for those who know how to manage their assets. Now... hand over the case. Inside that box are hard drives containing the routing protocols for ninety million dollars in dormant offshore reserves. Files that Vanessa thought she could use to blackmail her way out of an indictment."
"If you shoot us here, you’ll never leave this valley," I spoke up, stepping out from behind Graham just enough to look Vance in the eyes. "The county sheriff knows we’re here. Marcus’s team logged our GPS coordinates with federal dispatch before we crossed the perimeter."
Vance’s cold smile widened, revealing teeth that were too white, too perfect. "My dear Hannah, your mother truly didn't tell you anything, did she?"
My chest tightened. "What are you talking about?"
"Who do you think hired Marcus’s security firm eighteen months ago?" Vance asked softly.
A cold, paralyzing dread swept through my limbs. I turned my head slowly, looking at Marcus, who was standing three paces to our left.
Marcus didn't lower his gun. But he didn't shoot at Vance’s men, either. Slowly, deliberately, Marcus shifted his aim from Vance... and leveled the barrel of his gun directly at Graham’s chest.
May you like
"I'm sorry, Mr. Sterling," Marcus said, his voice flat, professional, and devoid of remorse. "Mr. Vance pays a retainer that guarantees generational loyalty. The coordinates I transmitted were for a warehouse forty miles south. Nobody is coming to Elmwood."
---
