Chapter 7 - The Reckoning on the BeachAs soon as the plastic ties snapped, Vanessa flung her arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder. Her body was trembling—not with fear, but with the sudden, overwhelming release of weeks of suffocating pressure.
"You idiot," she sobbed softly against my collarbone. "You absolute, arrogant idiot. You could have been killed."
"I love you, Vanessa," I murmured into her hair, holding her tight against me. "I am so, so sorry."
Before she could answer, a loud click echoed from behind us.
We both spun around.
Richard Vance was on his knees near the table, holding Viktor’s dropped pistol with a shaking, sweaty hand pointed squarely at my chest. His eyes were wide, manic, and desperate.
"Don't move!" Richard screamed, his voice cracking. "Nobody move! You think you're going to walk out of here with the tech, Adrien? You think the Russians are just going to let us walk away?"
Viktor chuckled darkly from the floor, blood trickling from a small cut on his lip. "Shoot him, old man. He has nothing. If he presses that button, we all die anyway."
I slowly let go of Vanessa, stepping slightly in front of her to shield her body with my own.
"Richard," I said calmly, keeping my voice steady. "Put the gun down. The federal package has already synchronized with my cloud backup. Killing me won't stop the data from transmitting."
"Liar!" Richard shrieked, his finger tightening on the trigger. "You're just like your father! You think you own everything! You think you can just march in here and—"
Crack.
A single gunshot echoed through the villa.
Richard froze. The gun slipped from his trembling fingers and clattered onto the marble floor. He looked down in utter disbelief at his shoulder, where a neat, smoking hole had torn through his jacket, before collapsing backward into a dead faint.
Marcus lowered his smoking Sig Sauer, blowing gently across the barrel. "Nicely aimed, sir. Didn't want to ruin the upholstery."
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Viktor looked at Richard, then at Marcus, and slowly raised his hands over his head, sinking back down onto his knees in complete surrender.
"Call the Bahamian federal police," I told Marcus without taking my eyes off the enforcer. "Tell them we have a confession, three million in stolen trust funds, and an international money-laundering syndicate ready for pickup."
