Chapter 9 - CROSBY'S DEMISE
I didn't wait for Vane to track us. I knew how he operated. He was vain, he was arrogant, and he liked to gloat. He would be at his secondary compound in the city, counting the spoils of what he thought was a total victory over the Mercer empire.
I loaded the trunk of a spare truck with C4, assault rifles, and enough ammunition to start a small war. I left Prescott in charge of the cabin, telling him that if I didn't return in twenty-four hours, he was to take Clara and the kids to a safe contact in Europe and never look back.
The drive back to the city was a cold, calculating meditation. I stripped away the father, the grieving widower, the man who had softened in the presence of Clara. I became the monster the underworld feared.
Vane's compound was a fortified warehouse in the industrial district. His men were celebrating, arrogant and sloppy. They thought I was buried under a mansion.
I didn't knock. I drove the truck straight through the reinforced steel gates at seventy miles an hour, diving out the driver's side door seconds before the vehicle slammed into the main loading bay. I hit the detonator.
The explosion ripped the front of the warehouse apart, sending a massive fireball into the night sky.
I moved through the smoke and fire like a wraith. I didn't miss a single shot. The men who had terrorized my home, who had threatened my children, dropped one by one. I was fueled by a dark, relentless fury.
I found Vane in his fortified office on the top floor. The blast had blown the doors off their hinges. He was scrambling for a weapon on his desk when I walked in, my rifle raised.
I shot the gun out of his hand, blowing off two of his fingers in the process. He screamed, falling backward over his chair.
"Mercer!" he shrieked, clutching his bloody hand. "You're crazy! The commission will have your head for this!"
"The commission doesn't care about a dead man," I said coldly, walking slowly toward him.
"Wait, wait!" Vane begged, scooting backward until his back hit the wall. "Vanguard! I can give you the names! The investors, the scientists! The people who killed Genevieve!"
"I already have all the names I need," I said, stopping above him. "And they're all going to join you in hell."
"Mercer, please! I have money! I have—"
I didn't let him finish. I pulled the trigger.
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Silence descended on the burning warehouse. It was over. The head of the snake was gone. The threat to my family was extinguished. I lowered the weapon, feeling the immense weight of the last two years finally lift from my shoulders. I was bleeding, exhausted, and broken, but I was alive.
I turned around and walked out of the flames, stepping out into the cold Chicago night. It was time to go home. To my real home.
