Chapter 7 - THE RECKONING
Inside the dark house, the sound of Marcus’s men trying to cut through the reinforced steel shutters sounded like distant hornets. Thermite torches flared against the outer metal, sending bright red heat spots glowing through the steel, but the structure held.
Down in the subterranean vault, Clara worked under the harsh white glare of four computer monitors. Her hands flew across the keyboard, her eyes reflecting lines of green encryption code as the micro-drive extracted its payload.
Ronan stood at the foot of the stairs, a heavy rifle trained on the concrete ceiling, monitoring the structural integrity of the floor above.
"It’s working," Clara said, her voice shaking with excitement. "The drive isn't just financial records, Ronan. It’s audio files. Julian Vance recorded every meeting Marcus ever had with the cartels over the last five years. Murder contracts, extortion logs, weapons smuggling... it’s all here."
"How long to transmit?" Ronan asked without dropping his aim.
"The file size is massive—over eighty gigabytes of raw data," Clara said, her fingers blurring over the keys. "Using the satellite uplink, eight minutes. We just need eight minutes."
Above them, a massive explosion shook the floorboards. High-explosive charges had finally shattered the heavy front door locks, throwing the steel bar out of its housing.
Gray was waiting in the shadows of the upper balcony overlooking the double-height living room.
Through the smoke and dust, Marcus Mercer stepped into the foyer, flanked by six heavily armed mercenaries holding tactical shotguns. Marcus wore a tailored cashmere coat splattered with mud, a cruel smile stretching across his narrow face as he surveyed the grand room.
"Look at this place, Gray!" Marcus taunted, his voice echoing off the high rafters. "You lived like a monk in a mountain cave while I ran the city! You thought you were better than us because you didn't take the money! But you’re still a Mercer! You’re still a dog waiting for his master to kick him!"
Gray leaned his body against the upper railing, bringing his Glock up with his left hand, aligning the front sight with Marcus’s chest.
"Our father died in a cold room with no one holding his hand, Marcus," Gray’s voice drifted down from the shadows, calm, cold, and absolute. "He spent his whole life teaching us that love was a weakness. He died alone. And you’re going to die the same way."
Gray fired three rapid shots.
The two mercenaries beside Marcus dropped instantly as the bullets found their marks. Marcus screamed in terror, throwing himself behind the heavy granite island as his remaining men opened fire, peppering the wooden balcony with dozens of buckshot pellets.
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Gray rolled behind a thick oak support beam, his breath ragged, his right shoulder now bleeding profusely through the bandages. His sight was beginning to blur from shock and blood loss. He had two rounds left in his magazine.
Down below, Marcus hauled himself up, a heavy shotgun in his hands, his face twisted with insane fury. "Search the house! Find the basement! Kill everyone!"
