Chapter 3 - THE CLEAVER’S VERDICTThe cleaver didn't hit Arthur.
It buried itself three inches deep into the throat of the lead mercenary.
The man dropped instantly, his carbine clattering uselessly against the marble floor.
Before the remaining three mercenaries could spin around, the dining hall lights exploded into a shower of sparks.
Total darkness swallowed the room.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Muzzle flashes strobed through the blackness like miniature lightning bolts.
Glass shattered.
Wood splintered.
Through the chaos, a deep, rumbling laugh echoed from the doorway.
It was Jack Mercer.
And he wasn't shooting to wound.
When the emergency backup generators kicked on five seconds later, the dining hall looked like a slaughterhouse.
Three mercenaries lay motionless on the blood-slicked carpet.
Arthur Sterling was on his knees, clutching the edge of the mahogany table, his silver hair matted with sweat, his breath coming in ragged, whistling gasps.
Standing directly behind Arthur was Emily.
She wasn't holding a mop now.
In her right hand, she held a heavy, blood-stained industrial sewing awl—the exact tool used to pierce heavy canvas and braided nylon.
And the tip of it was resting lightly against the jugular vein in Arthur’s neck.
“You dropped your napkin, Mr. Sterling,” Emily said. Her voice didn't shake. It was ice cold, carrying the weight of a ghost returned from the grave.
Arthur tried to turn his head, but the sharp steel bit into his skin, drawing a single bead of bright red blood.
“You... you’re his daughter,” Arthur rasped, staring up at her with terrified eyes. “Vince Carter’s girl.”
“Vince Carter remembers every word you said while you poured gasoline on the catwalk,” Emily whispered, pressing the awl an inch deeper. “And today, I’m collecting the interest.”
Mason stood up slowly from his chair, his bad arm throbbing, but his stride steady as death itself.
May you like
He walked around the table, stopped inches from his former mentor, and looked down at the man who had tried to bury him.
“You wanted a clean succession, Arthur?” Mason asked softly, pulling a heavy brass lighter from his pocket. “Let’s see how you look in the fire.”
