Chapter 4 - The Tables TurnGrant’s hand trembled slightly on the pistol grip. For a split second, doubt flickered in his eyes.
"A baby?" Grant glanced down at Elena. Elena didn't blink. She stared straight ahead, refusing to give them the satisfaction of fear.
"He’s lying," Roland snapped, stepping forward. "It’s a psychological tactic, Grant! Don't listen to him—"
"He isn't lying, Roland," a cool voice echoed from the shadows near the back entrance.
Grant and Roland spun around.
Stepping out from behind a stack of rusted steel drums was Malcolm Reed, flanked by three heavily armed enforcers from the Vale inner circle—men whose loyalty couldn't be bought with Moretti money because their families owed everything to Adrian.
"I pulled the medical records an hour ago," Malcolm said, holding up a secure tablet. "Obstetrics practice in New Haven. First ultrasound. Ten weeks. The financial records I decrypted also show a secondary transaction: Roland Pierce transferring five million dollars into an offshore account registered in Grant Mercer’s name three days before the Whitmore ambush."
Grant’s face drained of color. He looked down at Roland. "You said the funds weren't clearing until after the hit!"
"Shut up, you idiot!" Roland hissed, panic finally cracking his polished exterior.
"You used me," Grant snarled, turning his gun away from Elena’s head for a split second to point it at Roland.
It was all the opening Lucas Benton needed.
Crack.
Lucas’s submachine gun barked once. The bullet caught Grant squarely in the forearm holding the pistol. The weapon flew from his hand, clattering loudly against the concrete floor as Grant screamed, clutching his shattered arm.
Before Roland could reach for his own hidden holster, two of Adrian’s enforcers slammed him face-first onto a metal table, pinning his arms behind his back with bone-crushing force.
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The warehouse erupted into chaos, but it was over before it truly began. Grant’s mercenaries, realizing they were surrounded and outnumbered, dropped their weapons and raised their hands.
Adrian didn't look at them. He walked straight past the bleeding Grant, ignoring his groans, and knelt beside Elena’s chair.
