Chapter 7 - The Ticket to Ruin
The midnight air whipped through the echoing, cavernous halls of Grand Central Terminal.
The main concourse was empty, the golden clock ticking ominously above the information booth. Damian and I bypassed the public areas, slipping through a heavy iron maintenance door Damian’s security had breached.
We descended into the humid, dimly lit maintenance tunnels that ran beneath the tracks.
“Keep behind me,” Damian ordered, unholstering a suppressed pistol from beneath his jacket. His eyes were cold, calculating. He wasn't a billionaire investor right now; he was a predator hunting in the dark.
We rounded a corner of exposed brick and rusted pipes.
There they were.
Marco stood trembling in the center of the tunnel, clutching his asthma inhaler in one hand and the tarnished silver coin in the other.
Thirty feet away stood Julian Vale.
Julian was impeccably dressed in a tailored gray suit, looking entirely out of place in the grime of the tunnels. He held a sleek black handgun, pointed lazily at my teenage brother’s chest. Behind Julian stood two massive mercenaries, holding an occupied medical stretcher.
My mother lay on the stretcher, unconscious but breathing, an oxygen mask over her face.
“Mom!” Marco yelled, taking a step forward.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Julian tutted, waving his gun. “The coin first, boy. Toss it.”
“Marco, don't!” I screamed, stepping out from the shadows.
Julian smiled, a chilling, dead expression. “Maya. And Damian. A family reunion. How touching.”
“Let them go, Julian,” Damian commanded, stepping in front of me, aiming his weapon squarely at Julian’s head. “You want the ledger. It’s right there. Take it and leave the civilians out of this.”
Julian laughed. It echoed off the damp walls. “Civilians? Damian, you’re so sentimental. That’s always been your weakness. Just like your father.”
Damian’s jaw locked. “Leave my father out of this. He died of pancreatic cancer.”
Julian tilted his head, a malicious glint in his eye. “Is that what Elena told you? Cancer?”
Damian froze.
“Your father was a ruthless, brilliant man,” Julian sneered, pacing slowly. “But he found out my family was skimming from the Volkov accounts. He was going to ruin us. So, I paid a private nurse to slowly poison his IV bags over six months. It mimicked the symptoms of pancreatic cancer perfectly.”
The reversal hit Damian like a physical blow. His hand wavered. His father hadn't died of an illness. He had been murdered.
“This was never just about money, Damian,” Julian hissed. “This is blood for blood. Now, Marco, throw me the coin, or I put a bullet in your mother’s head.”
Marco looked at me, tears streaming down his face. Then he looked at Damian.
Marco wound up his arm and threw the heavy silver coin. It clattered against the concrete, skidding perfectly to a stop at Julian’s feet.
Julian smiled triumphantly. He bent down and picked it up. He pressed his thumb against the hidden seam and slid it open.
Julian’s smile vanished.
The coin was empty.
“Where is the SD card?” Julian roared, raising his gun at Marco.
“I didn't bring it,” Marco panted, stepping back. “I brought a GPS tracker.”
Before Julian could pull the trigger, a mechanical whirring sound echoed from the far end of the tunnel.
From the shadows, a motorized wheelchair rolled forward into the dim light.
Elena Volkov sat in the chair. Her silver hair was perfectly coiffed, her burgundy dress immaculate.
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And in her lap, resting neatly between her manicured hands, was a heavy, military-grade detonator switch.
“Hello, Julian,” Elena said coldly. “I believe you are looking for me.”
