Chapter 5 - The Senator’s DaughterSarah Vance lowered the barrel of her rifle, water dripping from the brim of her tactical cap, her face a mask of cold, calculated fury.
“You’re late, Sarah,” Austin said, lowering his pistol just a fraction, though his finger remained tightly curled around the trigger guard.
“Traffic on the Expressway was murder, Austin,” Sarah replied, her voice steady despite the chaos surrounding them. She stepped over the wreckage of the front door, kicking aside a discarded cartridge casing. “Besides, it takes time to hack the Department of Justice mainframe to reroute every federal marshal unit within a fifty-mile radius so they don’t accidentally interrupt our family reunion.”
Austin stared at her, the pieces finally snapping into a horrifying, brilliant puzzle.
“You weren’t just investigating the Bullards,” Austin realized aloud. “You were running them.”
“My father is a politician, Austin. Politicians need money, and money needs logistics,” Sarah said, walking slowly toward him, her boots clicking on the ruined floor. “The Bullards were just a franchise. When Elena Reed stole the financial ledgers and ran to Vermont, my father panicked. He wanted her dead on day one. But I knew better.”
“You let her go,” Austin said, his voice dropping dangerously low.
“I gave her a choice,” Sarah corrected, a bitter smile touching her lips. “I told her she could live a quiet, miserable life in the woods with a fake name, provided she kept her mouth shut and never looked at the ledgers again. But Elena got greedy. She started keeping a secondary diary—a digital insurance policy hidden inside her daughter’s belongings, just in case my father or I ever decided to tie up loose ends.”
“And Marcus?” Austin glanced back toward the hallway. “Was Marcus working for you too?”
“Marcus was working for the highest bidder,” Sarah shrugged dismissively. “Men like Marcus are like cheap watches—easy to buy, easy to wind, and ultimately disposable.”
Suddenly, the red dot of a laser sight appeared directly on the center of Sarah Vance’s forehead.
From the top of the grand staircase, Marcus Delaney stood swaying, holding a heavy SIG rifle with one hand, his face deathly pale from blood loss. He had managed to crawl out of the study and drag himself to the railing.
“Nobody calls me disposable, you rich little bitch,” Marcus snarled, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Before Marcus could fire, a sharp crack echoed through the foyer.
It wasn't Austin’s gun.
From the shadows near the shattered entrance, Bruno stepped out, lowering a high-powered hunting rifle with a smoking barrel.
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Marcus staggered backward, dropped his weapon, and fell backward over the wooden railing, crashing down onto the marble floor just ten feet from where Austin stood.
He didn't move again.
