Chapter 8 - Night of the Fire
Before Davidson could pull the trigger, the reinforced glass skylights above the warehouse shattered in a violent explosion of sparks and falling glass.
Tactical flashbang grenades rained down, detonating with deafening booms and blinding light.
"GO! GO! GO!"
Vance’s elite tactical squad descended on ropes from the rafters, opening fire with suppressed weapons. Davidson’s mercenaries were neutralized in seconds before they could even draw their sidearms.
Nathan lunged forward amidst the smoke and chaos, tackling Davidson to the concrete floor. The pistol went flying into the darkness.
Davidson scrambled backward, his face bloodied, grabbing a heavy steel pipe from the ground and swinging it wildly at Nathan. Nathan dodged the blow, caught Davidson’s wrist, and slammed him against a concrete pillar with terrifying force.
"This is for Julian," Nathan growled, driving a brutal right hook into Davidson’s jaw, knocking the older man to his knees.
Nathan grabbed Davidson by the collar, hoisting him up against the pillar. "And this is for my nieces."
Sirens wailed in the distance—dozens of NYPD cruisers and FBI tactical vehicles swarming the pier. Nathan had broadcasted the flash drive’s contents directly to the Federal Prosecutor's office fifteen minutes before entering the building.
Vance quickly cut Clara’s ropes. She collapsed forward, and Nathan caught her before she hit the ground, supporting her weight.
"Are you okay?" Nathan asked softly.
Clara looked up at him through tears, seeing the undeniable resemblance to Julian in his jawline and eyes. "The girls... are they..."
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"They are safe at my home," Nathan assured her, wrapping his jacket around her bruised shoulders. "They are waiting for you."
As the FBI burst through the doors, swarming the warehouse and dragging a screaming, handcuffed Davidson away in chains, Nathan guided Clara out into the cool, rain-washed air.
