Chapter 4 - THE BILLIONAIRE’S COUNTER-ATTACK
Robert didn't flinch. He stood perfectly still, placing himself directly between Patricia’s gun and Lily.
"Patricia," Robert said, his voice eerily calm, the voice he used when he was about to completely destroy an opponent in a hostile takeover. "A foster home director working for a global money-laundering syndicate. I have to admit, it's a brilliant cover. No one looks twice at a overworked social worker."
"Cut the crap, Mitchell," Patricia snapped, her finger tightening on the trigger. "The ledger key is on that laptop. Step away from it, and I might let the girl live. As for you? A tragic suicide due to financial ruin after your company’s collapse seems like a fitting headline."
From behind Patricia, James stepped into the room, his face pale but determined. "Just take the laptop, Patricia. We don't need more blood."
"Shut up, James!" Patricia barked. "You almost let them escape in Manhattan. You're soft."
Robert watched the tension between them. A fracture in the partnership. The ultimate leverage point.
"James," Robert said, his tone conversational. "How much did they promise you? Fifty million? A hundred? Do you really think Patricia is going to let you walk away with that money? Look at her. She’s a cleaner. The moment I’m dead, and the ledger is secure, you’re the next liability."
James hesitated, his eyes darting toward Patricia. "Rob, don't..."
"He’s lying to you, James! Shoot him!" Patricia screamed.
But Robert had already calculated the timing. In the fraction of a second that Patricia turned her head to yell at James, Robert reached into his coat. He didn't pull a gun—he pulled his high-end, heavy titanium executive pen and slammed it directly into the tactical flashlight in Patricia’s hand.
The light exploded. The cabin plunged into darkness.
Gunfire erupted.
The deafening roars of suppressed gunfire shattered the small room. Robert tackled Lily to the ground, rolling them behind the heavy steel safe just as bullets ripped through the wooden walls.
"Run, Lily! To the lower deck!" Robert yelled, grabbing the laptop and shoving it into her backpack.
In the chaos and darkness, James and Patricia began firing blindly. Robert surged forward, using his sheer size to tackle James into the rusted wall. The gun flew from James’s hand, skidding across the floor. Robert threw a brutal, heavy right hook, knocking his former COO unconscious.
But as Robert turned, Patricia recovered. She fired.
A sharp, searing pain exploded in Robert’s shoulder. He stumbled back, gasping, as blood began to soak through his shirt.
"You're a businessman, Mitchell," Patricia hissed, stepping over James's body, her gun raised, aiming directly at Robert’s head. "You don't know anything about survival."
"You're right," Robert choked out, clutching his bleeding shoulder, a grim smile spreading across his face. "I'm a businessman. And I just initiated a hostile liquidation."
Robert reached out with his uninjured hand and pulled a heavy, corroded lever on the wall behind him—the ship's ancient emergency ballast release.
With a deafening roar of tearing metal, thousands of gallons of trapped seawater flooded the lower compartments of the rotting ship. The floor violently tilted at a terrifying forty-five-degree angle. Patricia lost her footing, screaming as she slid across the slick, moldy deck, crashing through the rotted wooden railing and falling into the dark, churning ocean below.
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Robert dragged himself up, fighting the excruciating pain in his shoulder. The ship was tilting fast, beginning to sink into the Atlantic.
"Lily!" he shouted into the dark, stormy night. "Lily!"
