Chapter 6 - Shattered Illusions
The hallway of the east wing was lit only by the intermittent flashes of lightning illuminating the tall gothic windows. Spencer moved with lethal precision, the stolen assault rifle pressed tightly against his shoulder. Years of big-game hunting on private reserves had taught him how to stalk prey, but he had never hunted a man before.
He didn't have to hunt long.
At the end of the corridor, standing at the top of the grand sweeping staircase, was Richard. He was holding a silver-plated revolver, his tuxedo jacket discarded, his bowtie hanging loosely around his neck. He looked like a deranged king surveying a falling castle.
"Spencer!" Richard bellowed into the darkness. "It didn't have to be this way! We could have ruled the empire together! You just had to accept your place!"
Spencer stepped out from the shadows of a marble pillar, the red dot sight of his rifle aimed dead center at Richard’s chest.
"Drop the gun, Richard," Spencer’s voice was eerily calm, carrying over the distant sounds of the gunfight downstairs, which was rapidly dying down as Vance’s men secured the perimeter.
Richard squinted into the darkness, raising his revolver. "You don't have the guts, little brother. You've always been weak. Father knew it. That's why he left me the controlling shares initially, until you manipulated the board. You were always too soft!"
"Soft?" Spencer scoffed, taking a slow step forward. "I spent my entire life thinking I was broken because I didn't feel anything. I thought the Warren blood was poison. But looking at you, I realize the poison wasn't in the blood. It was just in you."
"Shut up!" Richard screamed, his hand shaking.
"You threatened a pregnant maid thirty years ago to protect your trust fund. You kidnapped a desperate woman, locked her in a freezing cabin, and threw your own nephew into the trash. You are a coward, Richard. A pathetic, greedy coward."
With a roar of absolute fury, Richard pulled the trigger.
The gunshot deafened the hallway. The bullet shattered the marble pillar inches from Spencer’s head, showering him in sharp stone fragments.
Spencer didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.
Instead of returning lethal fire, Spencer adjusted his aim down slightly and squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession.
Bam! Bam!
Richard screamed in agony as both bullets tore through his kneecaps. He collapsed at the top of the stairs, the silver revolver clattering down the carpeted steps. He writhed on the floor, clutching his shattered legs, howling in pain and disbelief.
Spencer walked slowly down the hallway, the rifle still raised, until he stood over his brother’s bleeding body.
"You shot me!" Richard sobbed, the manic king replaced by a weeping, broken man. "You actually shot me!"
"I promised Charlee I wouldn't let anyone hurt her family," Spencer said coldly, kicking the revolver further down the stairs. "I keep my promises."
Suddenly, the massive front doors of the mansion burst open downstairs. Beams of high-powered flashlights swept through the grand foyer.
"Police! Drop your weapons! Everyone on the ground!"
Scores of heavily armed SWAT officers flooded the mansion, moving with absolute authority. Leading them was Casey, the child welfare worker. Only, she wasn't wearing a cardigan and carrying a clipboard anymore. She was wearing an FBI windbreaker and holding a badge.
Casey walked up the grand staircase, flanked by tactical agents. She looked at Richard groaning in a pool of his own blood, and then up at Spencer, who calmly lowered his rifle and placed it on the floor.
"I told you I needed everything kept under official supervision, Mr. Warren," Casey said, a slight, impressed smirk on her face. "Agent Casey Miller, FBI Financial Crimes and Kidnapping Task Force. We’ve been building a RICO case against your brother for three years regarding his money laundering through the Warren Foundation. But attempted murder of an infant? That's the nail in the coffin."
"Take out the trash, Agent Miller," Spencer said, stepping over his brother’s body and walking back down the hallway toward the nursery.
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As the FBI medics loaded a screaming Richard onto a stretcher, Spencer opened the closet door. Mrs. Mabel was rocking Dexter, while Charlee held tightly to the blue teddy bear.
"It's over," Spencer smiled, his eyes filling with tears for the first time in a decade. He dropped to his knees, wrapping his massive arms around Mrs. Mabel, Charlee, and his tiny son. "The monsters are gone. We're safe."
