Chapter 6 - The UnravelingMateo didn't hand over the drive. Instead, he slammed his thumb into the hidden release catch on the side of the Warden's heavy tactical stun gun—which he had concealed up his coat sleeve—and pressed it directly into Vance’s neck.
Fifty thousand volts of electricity surged through Marcus Vance’s body.
Vance shrieked, his eyes rolling back as his muscles convulsed violently. He collapsed onto the floor, his gun skittering across the hardwood.
"Get down!" Mateo screamed to Elena.
The two mercenaries raised their rifles, but Mateo was already moving with animalistic fury. He lunged at the first guard, tackling him over the wooden balustrade of the second-floor balcony.
The two men crashed down twenty feet onto the glass dining table in the foyer below. The table shattered into ten thousand glittering shards.
Mateo groaned, his shoulder dislocated from the impact, but the mercenary was knocked unconscious by the falling debris. Ignoring the excruciating pain shooting down his arm, Mateo popped his shoulder back into its socket against the heavy mahogany banister with a sickening CRACK.
Above him, the second mercenary aimed his rifle down over the railing, preparing to finish Mateo off.
BANG! BANG!
Two gunshots shattered the air. The mercenary stiffened, dropped his weapon, and tumbled over the railing, crashing onto the marble floor.
Mateo spun around, his heart in his throat.
Standing at the top of the stairs, holding Vance’s discarded pistol with two trembling hands, was Clara. Elena had picked up the fallen keys from Vance's unconscious body and unlocked her mother’s room.
"Mateo!" Clara sobbed, rushing down the stairs, her frail body shaking.
Mateo scrambled up the steps, meeting her halfway. He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her neck, holding her so tightly he felt her heartbeat syncing with his own. Five years of nightmare, pain, and isolation vanished in that single, frantic embrace.
"I thought I lost you forever," Mateo wept, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her hair.
"I never gave up hope," Clara whispered, clinging to him. "Not for a single second."
Elena ran up to them, throwing her small arms around both of their waists. Mateo dropped to his knees, pulling his family close, surrounding them with his arms like a shield.
"We have to go," Elena said softly, her voice regaining that strange, uncanny composure. "The police are coming. I heard their radios outside."
Mateo stood up, looking down at Marcus Vance, who was groaning on the floor, groggily trying to push himself up.
"It's over, Vance," Mateo said, pulling the leather-bound journal from his coat. "The drive was a decoy. The real evidence was in Clara's journal—the exact coordinates of your offshore accounts, signed by your own bankers."
Vance glared up at him, spitting blood onto the white marble floor. "You think you've won, Mateo? You're an escaped convict! The police outside don't know the truth! To them, you're a killer with a gun! They will shoot you on sight!"
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The sound of blaring police sirens echoed outside, growing louder and louder. Red and blue strobe lights flashed through the high stained-glass windows of the mansion.
"Surround the perimeter!" a voice boomed through a megaphone outside. "Mateo Vargas, come out with your hands up! You are surrounded!"
