Chapter 7 - The Final Desperate Move
Marcus Sterling stood in the doorway.
His silk tie was completely undone, his hair disheveled, his face flushed with a manic, unhinged fury. In his right hand, he was clutching a heavy, black snub-nosed revolver, pointing it directly at Gabriel’s chest!
"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" Sterling screamed, his voice cracking with hysterical panic.
"Sterling," Gabriel said calmly, standing up slowly, stepping directly in front of my chair to shield me completely with his body. "You're making a fatal mistake."
"Shut up! SHUT UP, VANCE!" Sterling shrieked, his eyes wild, his hand trembling on the trigger. "You think you can ruin me?! You think you can take my company, freeze my accounts, and hand everything back to Arthur Hayes’s useless daughter?!"
Outside the glass walls, staff members were screaming, scattering across the office floor as security alarms began to blare across the 42nd floor.
"Put the gun down, Sterling," Gabriel commanded, his voice dead calm, not a single trace of fear in his posture. "Federal marshals are already in the building elevator. You shoot me, and you spend the rest of your natural life in a maximum-security prison."
"I don't care about prison!" Sterling laughed hysterically, his eyes fixed on me from behind Gabriel’s shoulder. "Arthur Hayes ruined my life ten years ago! I spent ten years taking everything he owned! I made his daughter fetch my coffee, scrape my floors, and beg for overtime! I was supposed to own this city!"
Sterling raised the gun higher, aiming straight at Gabriel’s head.
"If I'm going down, Vance," Sterling snarled, "I'm taking your prized investment with me!"
He shifted his grip, aiming the barrel past Gabriel's shoulder—directly at my chest!
"NO!" Gabriel roared.
In a split second, Gabriel didn't draw a weapon. He didn't try to run.
He threw his entire body forward, launching himself across the distance between them, slamming into Sterling just as the gun went off!
BANG!
The deafening roar of the gunshot shattered the quiet of the boardroom. The bullet struck the heavy glass wall behind us, spider-webbing the thick pane into a thousand fractured lines.
Gabriel and Sterling crashed onto the marble floor of the reception area. The revolver skittered across the floor, spinning until it slammed against the legs of my desk.
Sterling fought like a rabid animal, punching wildly, but Gabriel—built from years of hard manual labor and relentless physical discipline—overpowered him in seconds. Gabriel pinned Sterling’s arms behind his back, pressing his face hard against the marble floor until the armed federal marshals burst through the elevator doors, taking control of the suspect.
"SECURE THE BUILDING! WE HAVE THE SUSPECT IN CUSTODY!" the lead marshal shouted, pulling Sterling to his feet and slamming him into handcuffs.
I sprinted out of the boardroom, my heart in my throat, collapsing onto my knees beside Gabriel.
"Gabriel! Gabriel, are you hurt?!" I cried, my hands frantically checking his suit, his chest, his arms.
Gabriel lay on his side, breathing heavily, his face covered in sweat. He looked up at me, saw the panic in my eyes, and slowly let out a low, raspy laugh.
"I'm fine, Valentina," he wheezed, sitting up slowly, adjusting his ruined tie. "The bullet missed."
I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably as the adrenaline rushed out of my body.
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Gabriel wrapped his large, strong arms around my waist, holding me tight against his chest, resting his chin on my head as the chaotic noise of sirens, police commands, and corporate panic swirled around us.
"I told you fourteen years ago," Gabriel whispered softly into my hair. "I'm good at holding on."
