Chapter 6 - THE FINAL STAND
The confrontation was swift. Grant pulled his gun, but Nathan, driven by years of pent-up rage and the desperate need to protect his newfound family, moved with a speed Grant didn't believe he possessed.
Nathan’s shot went wide, but it was enough to knock Grant off balance. Grant fired back, the bullet tearing through the cushion of the chair where Nathan had been sitting seconds before. Nathan rolled, using his upper body strength to propel himself behind the heavy mahogany desk.
“You’re pathetic, Nathan!” Grant roared, stalking around the room. “You’ve spent three years in a chair, thinking you were a victim! You were never a victim; you were just a hurdle!”
“You killed them, Grant!” Nathan shouted, his voice raw. “You killed Sophie! She was four! She didn't have a chance!”
“She was a mistake!” Grant screamed, firing again.
Nathan felt the sting of a graze on his arm, but he didn't falter. He crawled toward the side door, knowing that his security detail would be arriving any second. He just had to hold out.
Suddenly, the door burst open. It wasn't security. It was Hannah, holding the ledger high. Behind her, a group of federal agents stormed the room, drawn by the automated alert Nathan had triggered when he opened the folder.
“Drop the weapon!” an agent commanded.
Grant froze, looking at the army of law enforcement officers filling the room. He realized his power was gone. His shell companies were being seized, his bribes were being exposed, and he was cornered.
He dropped his gun, his face twisting in a snarl of pure hatred. “This isn't over, Nathan!”
“It is for you,” Nathan said, his voice trembling as he watched them drag Grant out.
He leaned back, his strength finally deserting him. Hannah ran to his side, her face stained with tears. “You did it! You’re safe!”
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Nathan looked up at her, then toward the doorway where Lucy stood, clutching her rabbit. She was staring at him, her wide, innocent eyes filled with concern.
Nathan realized that the war wasn't the only thing that had ended. His prison—the one he had built for himself out of grief and regret—had crumbled to dust.
