Chapter 5 - THE HOLLOW REED IN ACTIONThe boardroom erupted into chaos.
Two junior executives dove under the mahogany table, screaming in absolute terror. But Jonathan Mercer didn't flinch. He remained seated, his eyes fixed not on the gun barrel, but on the woman standing beside him.
Richard’s finger began to squeeze.
In that fraction of a microsecond—faster than human thought—Grace moved.
There was no grand wind-up, no theatrical shout. It was the pure, economy-of-motion physics of The Hollow Reed.
With her left hand, Grace deflected the barrel of the gun upward just as the deafening BANG echoed off the glass walls. A bullet shattered the forty-fifth-floor panoramic window, sending a spiderweb of cracks across the reinforced glass overlooking the city skyline.
Before Richard could recover his balance, Grace stepped inside his guard.
Her right palm struck the underside of his wrist with precise, calculated force. The Beretta flew from his grip, spinning through the air before clattering harmlessly against the far wall.
Before Richard could swing his fist, Grace pivoted on her heel, hooked her foot behind his ankle, and used his own forward momentum to sweep his legs out from under him.
CRASH.
Richard hit the hardwood floor so hard the wind evacuated his lungs in a violent wheeze. Before he could even process what had happened, Grace’s knee was pressed firmly into the center of his spine, and her hands had locked his arms behind his back in an inescapable joint lock.
Total elapsed time: 1.4 seconds.
Not a single bone broken. No unnecessary violence. Just absolute, flawless neutralization.
Grace looked down at the writhing corporate executive beneath her, her breathing completely steady.
"Assaulting a corporate officer, illegal firearms possession, and embezzlement," Grace recited smoothly, looking up at Jonathan. "Shall I call federal authorities, Mr. Mercer, or would you like to do the honors?"
Jonathan slowly stood up from his chair. He walked around the table, looking down at Richard, and then up at Grace. The look in his eyes had entirely transformed from curiosity to a deep, burning reverence and undeniable fascination.
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"Call the FBI, Grace," Jonathan said, his voice husky and low. Then, leaning down slightly toward her, he added, "And remind me never to get on your bad side."
Grace offered a small, knowing smile. "You bought the company, Mr. Mercer. Just make sure you know how to handle the security."
