Chapter 7 - THE HOUSE OF CARDS
The fixer’s grip on Nora’s arm was like a steel vise, cutting off her circulation as he dragged her toward the splintered library doors.
“Let go of me!” Nora shouted, digging her heels into the expensive Persian rug.
“Easy, Miss Hayes,” the man with the platinum watch murmured, his voice dead and devoid of emotion. “You’re unwell. We’re getting you help.”
Victoria stood a few feet away, watching with a look of supreme, icy satisfaction. Her plan was flawless. Silas was in cuffs, the FBI was pacified by her father’s forged medical order, and the only woman who could expose her was about to disappear into a private "psychiatric facility" from which she would never return.
Nora looked back at Silas. He was pinned against the wall by two federal agents, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked furiously in his cheek. He was powerless. For the first time in his life, the invisible strings he pulled to control Chicago had been severed by federal authority.
Nora stopped pulling. She stopped fighting the fixer’s grip.
Instead, she forced her breathing to slow. She remembered who she was. She wasn't just a waitress fighting a mob boss's wife. She was Thomas Hayes’s daughter. She was a lawyer who dismantled lies for a living.
“Agent Miller,” Nora said, her voice eerily calm, ringing out clearly over the commotion.
The lead FBI agent paused, looking at her.
“You just arrested Silas Mercer based on financial documents provided by his wife,” Nora said, her eyes boring into the agent. “Documents she claims prove he stole three million dollars.”
“That’s correct,” Agent Miller said cautiously.
“Don't listen to her, she’s hysterical,” Victoria snapped, her facade cracking slightly. “Get her out of here!”
The fixer yanked Nora’s arm violently, but Nora hooked her leg around the edge of a heavy oak reading chair, anchoring herself to the floor.
“Agent Miller, check your phone!” Nora shouted, the panic finally breaking into her voice. “I just uploaded the primary server logs to the DOJ database! The three million dollars wasn't stolen by Silas Mercer. It was wired into a trust fund owned by Senator Sterling. And the IP address used to initiate the transfer belongs to the phone currently sitting in Victoria Mercer’s pocket!”
The room went dead silent.
Victoria’s face paled. Her hand instinctively twitched toward her designer coat pocket. It was a micro-expression, a tiny tell, but in a room full of trained federal agents, it was as loud as a gunshot.
Agent Miller frowned. He pulled his encrypted federal smartphone from his tactical vest.
“Check the DOJ secure inbox,” Nora urged, her heart hammering against her ribs. “File name: Mercer_Ledger_Original. Cross-reference the transaction IDs with the hard drives she gave you. They won't match. Because she doctored the ones she handed over.”
Agent Miller tapped his screen. His brow furrowed deep in concentration. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
“This is absurd,” Victoria scoffed, though her voice shook. “She’s making things up. Agent Miller, I demand you remove her from my property.”
Agent Miller didn't look up from his phone. “Actually, Mrs. Mercer, this isn't your property. It’s held in a blind trust by Mercer Logistics.” He finally looked up, his eyes hardening. “And the file Miss Hayes just uploaded to D.C. contains a verified IP ping matching your mobile device, authorizing a wire transfer to a Cayman account.”
Victoria took a step back, her eyes darting toward her fixers. “It’s a forgery.”
“And there’s something else,” Agent Miller said, his voice dropping an octave. He looked at the man holding Nora’s arm. “The file includes an email chain coordinating the poisoning of Thomas Hayes. The hitman’s payment receipt includes a specific identifier.”
Agent Miller raised his assault rifle, aiming it squarely at the fixer’s chest.
“Let go of her, Mr. Vance,” Agent Miller ordered.
Nora gasped. She looked at the man holding her arm. He wasn't a random fixer. It was Richard Vance himself, the CEO of the rival auditing firm, acting as Victoria’s muscle to ensure the job was finished.
Vance’s face twisted into a snarl. He didn't let go of Nora. Instead, he reached beneath his suit jacket.
He was drawing a weapon.
Everything happened in a fraction of a second.
Before Vance’s gun could clear his holster, Silas Mercer moved.
He didn't care that his hands were cuffed behind his back. Using the wall for leverage, Silas launched himself backward, driving both of his heavy boots directly into Vance’s knees with bone-crushing force.
Vance screamed as his knees buckled. His grip on Nora vanished.
Nora stumbled backward, hitting the floor just as Agent Miller tackled Vance, pinning him to the rug and disarming him. The other FBI agents swarmed the room, chaos erupting.
Victoria realized it was over. She turned and bolted for the shattered library doors.
But a massive figure blocked her path.
Mr. Petrov stood in the doorway, his scarred face impassive. He reached out and grabbed Victoria by the collar of her white trench coat, stopping her dead in her tracks.
“Going somewhere, Mrs. Mercer?” Petrov rumbled softly.
Agent Miller yanked Silas back to his feet, but this time, the agent didn't shove him against the wall. He unclipped his key ring.
With a sharp click, the handcuffs fell from Silas’s wrists.
Silas rubbed his wrists slowly. He didn't look at Vance, who was currently being dragged out by federal agents. He didn't look at Miller. He walked directly over to Victoria, who was now trembling in Petrov’s grip.
“You tried to take my son,” Silas whispered, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, primal rage. “You tried to use the federal government to destroy the woman who saved my family. You are finished, Victoria. I will ensure your father dies in federal prison, and you will spend the rest of your life in a cell so small you won't be able to lie down.”
Victoria burst into tears, her haughty demeanor shattered into a million pathetic pieces. “Silas, please! It was my father’s idea! I had to do it!”
Silas turned his back in disgust. “Take her away.”
Agent Miller grabbed Victoria, reading her her Miranda rights as he marched her out of the library. Her wails echoed through the grand house, fading into the night.
The library was suddenly very quiet.
Silas turned to Nora. She was sitting on the floor, her chest heaving, the adrenaline slowly leaving her system. He knelt in front of her, his large hands gently grasping her shoulders.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his gray eyes searching her face with a frantic intensity that surprised her.
“I’m okay,” Nora breathed, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. “We got them. We actually got them.”
“You got them,” Silas corrected, pulling her to her feet. “You saved my empire. You saved Leo.”
Just then, a nurse from the medical wing rushed into the library. Her face was flushed, and she looked panicked.
“Miss Hayes! Mr. Mercer!” the nurse yelled. “It’s your father!”
Nora’s heart dropped into her stomach. Vance had been in the room. Had he done something to the medical equipment before coming to the library?
“What’s wrong?!” Nora screamed, sprinting past Silas and racing down the hallway toward the medical suite.
She burst into Room A, terrified of what she would find.
Her father was still in the bed. The ventilator was still rhythmic.
But as Nora rushed to his side, she saw something that made her freeze.
The child’s drawing—Leo’s drawing—was lying on the blanket near her father’s hand.
May you like
And Thomas Hayes’s index finger was slowly, deliberately tracing the outline of the crayon house.
His eyes fluttered open.
