Chapter 9 - Justice in the Dark
The ground-floor archive room was located beneath the grand staircase, hidden behind a heavy iron door that looked like it belonged in a medieval bank vault.
As Vincent and I crept down the dimly lit corridor, we saw the flickering orange glow of a thermal cutting torch eating through the steel hinges of the archive door.
Sparks showered across the marble floor. Standing behind the operator was Eleanor Sterling, her face smeared with soot, her expensive trench coat ruined, screaming instructions at her men.
"Hurry up! The state police are already past the front gates!" Eleanor hissed, pacing back and forth like a trapped animal.
"Drop your weapons!" Vincent’s voice boomed through the dark corridor, echoing off the stone walls with terrifying authority.
Eleanor spun around, her eyes widening in sheer shock as Vincent stepped out of the shadows, the barrel of the tactical shotgun leveled squarely at her chest. Beside him, I raised my compact pistol, keeping the cutting torch operator in my sights.
"Vincent," Eleanor sneered, recovering her composure with chilling speed, though her hands were shaking. "You really think shooting me will save you? My men outside will tear this entire property to the ground."
"Your men outside are currently being handcuffed by twenty state troopers," a new, booming voice echoed from the main entrance behind them.
Heavy boots crunched on the glass of the foyer. Flashing red and blue police lights painted the grand hallway in vibrant streaks of crimson and azure, bouncing off the marble pillars.
Eleanor’s face turned the color of ash. She looked toward the foyer, watching as two state police officers marched Dr. Harrison Blake down the hallway in handcuffs, followed by three tactical operatives whose weapons had already been stripped away.
"No..." Eleanor whispered, stepping back against the vault door. "No, this isn't how it ends. The Sterling Trust owns half the judiciary in this state!"
"Not anymore," a calm, authoritative voice spoke as Agent Vance—the federal prosecutor I had worked with months ago—stepped into the light, holding a federal arrest warrant bearing a wet ink signature from a federal judge.
"Eleanor Sterling, Dr. Harrison Blake," Agent Vance announced clearly, holding up the document. "You are under arrest for conspiracy, corporate racketeering, attempted murder, and the unlawful administration of neurotoxins."
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As the state troopers and federal agents swarmed the hallway, clicking handcuffs onto Eleanor and Dr. Blake, I let out a breath I felt like I had been holding for the last forty-eight hours.
The nightmare was finally over.
