Chapter 6 - A Desperate Trade
The smoke in the grand foyer was thick and acrid, smelling of sulfur and wet plaster.
Jackson descended the grand staircase, his weapon raised, his eyes scanning the shadows. He could hear the rapid, muffled exchange of gunfire coming from the gardens below the terrace.
Suddenly, a flashlight beam cut through the smoke, illuminating a figure standing near the grand piano.
It was Alistair Vance.
He looked older, his face thinner and more scarred from his time in federal prison, but his eyes still carried that same manic, brilliant intelligence that had made him Jackson’s most dangerous rival. He wore a heavy tactical coat, a modified submachine gun slung over his shoulder, and he was holding a detonator in his left hand.
"Jackson," Vance spoke, his voice echoing through the ruined foyer. "You look well. Retirement suits you. The navy suit is a nice touch. Much more... civilized than the leather jackets you used to wear when you were breaking my operations in Pittsburgh."
"You should have stayed in the hole, Alistair," Jackson said, his voice cold and steady as he stepped off the stairs, keeping his weapon trained on Vance’s chest. "You won't make it out of Pennsylvania alive."
"Perhaps," Vance smiled, a cold, empty expression. "But I don't plan on going alone. You see, Jackson, while your boy Robert was busy securing your daughter, my team was busy with your loyal lieutenant."
Vance reached into his pocket and tossed a heavy, blood-stained silver Rolex watch onto the marble floor.
It was Marcus’s watch.
Jackson’s jaw tightened, a cold fury igniting in his chest. "If you touched him—"
"He’s alive. For now," Vance interrupted, his finger hovering over the button of the detonator. "But he’s currently tied to a chair inside the foundation's primary downtown community center. The one you built for the children of the North Side. And that community center is currently rigged with enough military-grade C4 to level three city blocks."
Vance stepped back into the shadows of the doorway, his eyes locking onto Jackson’s with an intense, venomous hatred.
May you like
"You have two hours, Jackson. Bring me the original encryption ledgers of the Red Thorn Syndicate—the ones you used to buy your way out of prison and build your precious foundation. Bring them to the community center. If I see a single police cruiser or a tactical team, I press this button, and your friend, your legacy, and your foundation’s future die in a sea of fire."
With a sudden, blinding flash of a smoke grenade, Vance vanished into the rainy night.
