Chapter 4 - THE PRICE OF TRUTH
"Julian," William growled, stepping in front of Emma and Martha, shielding them from the gun's barrel. "This is between you and me. Let them go. They have nothing to do with this."
Julian laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that made Noah cry even louder. "Nothing to do with this? William, you really are blind. Do you think it’s a coincidence that this little girl walked into your restaurant today?"
William froze. He looked back at Emma.
Emma’s face was pale, her eyes wide with genuine terror. "I don't know him! I swear, Mr. Parker! I just wanted the food!"
"Oh, she doesn't know," Julian sneered, taking a step forward, his boots crunching on the broken glass. "But her grandmother does. Tell him, Martha. Tell him who Mrs. Wilson really is."
Martha coughed weakly, clutching her chest. "Julian... please... don't."
"Mrs. Wilson—the woman who 'abandoned' that baby on your doorstep—is my personal assistant," Julian said, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "We knew Martha had the ledger. We’ve been looking for her for years. But she was too good at hiding. So, we decided to bait the hook."
William’s mind raced, putting the pieces together. "You left the baby with them... to force them out?"
"Not just any baby," Julian smiled. "That baby is the son of your late father’s private lawyer. The lawyer who drew up the original will. We knew if we left the kid with Martha, she’d eventually run out of money. We emptied her bank account last week to speed up the process. We knew she’d have to send the girl out to beg or look for help. And we made sure the girl ended up at Le Petit Chateaux today, right where you always eat lunch."
"You used a baby as bait?" William’s voice was dangerously low.
"And it worked beautifully," Julian said, raising his weapon. "You ran right to the source. You brought yourself right to the ledger. Now, William, hand over the drive, hand over the ledger, and I’ll make sure your deaths look like a tragic apartment fire. A faulty space heater. It happens in the Bronx all the time."
"Never," William said.
In one swift movement, William grabbed the heavy wooden desk chair and threw it directly at Julian.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Julian fired, but the heavy oak chair took the brunt of the bullets, splintering into pieces. The distraction was enough. William lunged through the smoke, tackling Julian to the ground.
The gun flew from Julian’s hands, clattering across the floor.
The two men grappled in the thick smoke. Julian punched William in the jaw, sending him backward. William retaliated with a sharp blow to Julian’s ribs, winding him. They fought like animals, years of family hatred exploding in a barrage of fists.
"Emma! Run!" William roared as he pinned Julian’s arms to the floor.
Emma didn't want to leave him, but she looked at her grandmother, who was barely conscious, and Noah, who was choking on the smoke. She grabbed Martha’s arm, draping it over her small shoulders.
"Grandma, please, you have to walk," Emma sobbed, dragging her toward the front door.
Meanwhile, Julian managed to slip a hand free. He reached into his boot and pulled out a tactical knife, slashing it across William’s chest.
William gasped, pulling back as blood stained his shirt.
Julian scrambled to his feet, panting, and picked up his gun. "I’m going to enjoy this, brother."
But before Julian could pull the trigger, the front door of the apartment was kicked open with a thunderous bang.
"Federal Agents! Nobody move!"
A dozen SWAT officers, armed with assault rifles and tactical shields, poured into the apartment.
Julian’s eyes went wide. He spun around, aiming his weapon at the officers, but a loud BANG echoed through the room.
A non-lethal flashbang grenade went off, blinding Julian. Within seconds, three officers tackled him to the ground, pinning him down and cuffing his hands behind his back.
William fell back against the wall, clutching his bleeding chest, coughing.
A tall man in a tailored FBI windbreaker walked into the room, stepping over the debris. He looked at William, then at the ledger lying on the floor.
"Mr. Parker," the agent said, showing his badge. "I’m Agent Vance. We received an anonymous tip with your location and a digital copy of some... very interesting financial transactions. It seems your stepbrother has been under our radar for a while."
William looked at the ledger, then at Martha, who was being treated by two medic officers who had just entered.
"Who sent the tip?" William gasped.
May you like
Agent Vance smiled slightly. "It came from an encrypted source. But the signature at the bottom of the email simply read: 'A friend of Arthur Parker.'"
William turned his head to look at Martha. She gave him a weak, knowing nod. She had sent the digital files years ago, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
