Chapter 6 - THE RECKONING
Julian flinched, turning his weapon toward the shattered glass.
A heavy, rusted fire extinguisher rolled across the carpet, having been hurled through the glass from the metal catwalk outside.
Standing on the catwalk, soaking wet, bleeding, and clutching a heavy steel wrench she had found in the maintenance bay, was Grace.
“Get away from my husband!” she screamed.
Julian sneered, aiming the gun at her. “You resilient little cockroach.”
That split second of distraction was all Arthur needed.
With a feral roar, Arthur lunged across the office. He slammed his entire body weight into Julian. The gun went off, a silenced phut that shattered the ceiling tiles, before the two men crashed onto the glass-strewn floor.
Julian was taller, but Arthur was fueled by a year of suppressed agony and pure, unfiltered rage. He drove a heavy fist into Julian’s jaw, hearing a satisfying crack.
“You touched her!” Arthur roared, striking him again. “You touched my family!”
Julian kicked violently, his expensive dress shoe catching Arthur in the ribs. Arthur gasped, rolling off. Julian scrambled for the gun, which had slid near the desk.
His hand closed around the grip.
Before he could lift it, Grace swung the heavy steel wrench downward with all the strength left in her broken body. The metal connected with Julian’s wrist with a sickening crunch.
Julian screamed, dropping the weapon.
Arthur scrambled up, grabbed the gun, and pointed it down at his brother, his chest heaving.
Julian lay on the floor, cradling his shattered wrist, his perfect veneer completely destroyed. He looked up at Arthur, spitting blood onto the carpet.
“Do it,” Julian wheezed, his eyes wide and wild. “You don’t have the spine, Arthur. You never did.”
Arthur’s finger tightened on the trigger. He looked at the man who had caused him a year of agonizing, soul-crushing grief. He thought of Grace locked in a basement, terrified and alone, giving birth on a cold floor. He wanted to kill him. It would be so easy.
“Arthur, don’t.”
Grace dropped the wrench and fell to her knees beside him. She wrapped her bloody, cold hands over his, forcing the barrel of the gun toward the floor.
“If you shoot him, you go to prison,” Grace cried softly. “And he wins. He takes you away from me again. Let him rot in a cell. We have the proof.”
Arthur looked at his wife’s desperate, beautiful face. He slowly lowered the gun.
In the distance, the wailing of sirens began to cut through the heavy rain.
Julian laughed, a manic, wet sound. “The police? You think they’ll believe a dead woman and a madman? I own the chief of police. I own the judges.”
“You don’t own the FBI,” a new voice said.
Vance, the family’s longtime lawyer—the man Julian thought was on his side—stepped into the office, flanked by three armed federal agents.
Vance looked down at Julian with deep disgust. “When Arthur called me from the SUV ten minutes ago and told me to check your offshore accounts for payments to Aris Thorne, I made a few calls. Your pilot just confessed everything for immunity.”
Julian’s face drained of color. The arrogance finally shattered.
As the agents hauled Julian to his feet and slapped heavy iron cuffs on his uninjured wrist, Arthur dropped the gun. He collapsed to his knees, pulling Grace into a desperate, crushing embrace.
They held each other on the glass-covered floor, the nightmare finally ending.
“Where’s the baby?” Arthur whispered frantically.
“In the car,” Grace sobbed in relief. “I locked him in. He’s safe.”
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But as an EMT rushed into the office to check on Grace, a police officer jogged up the stairs, his face pale.
“Mr. Blackwood?” the officer said. “We found your SUV. But the child… he’s completely unresponsive.”
