Chapter 5 - BLOOD ON THE MARBLETen minutes later, I emerged from the pump house, leaving Elena safely locked inside the subterranean bunker beneath the floorboards. In my hands, I held a heavy steel crowbar and a high-powered hunting knife I'd retrieved from the maintenance shed.
The night belonged to me now.
The mercenaries had surrounded the main house, believing I was hiding in the master suite. Flashlights strobed through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the living room.
I approached from the blind spot behind the garage. Two guards were patrolling the perimeter near the back patio, carrying suppressed submachine guns.
I moved like a shadow.
I came up behind the first guard, jamming the sharp end of the crowbar into the back of his knee. As he buckled, I grabbed his neck, driving his head violently into the stone pillar of the patio. He collapsed instantly, unconscious.
Before the second guard could swing his barrel toward me, I closed the distance, plunging the hunting knife through his tactical vest into the meat of his shoulder, slamming him against the glass door. I ripped the submachine gun from his hands, stripped his extra magazines, and dropped him with a brutal elbow to the temple.
Now I was armed.
I kicked open the French doors and stepped into the grand foyer.
Standing beneath the crystal chandelier was Richard Sterling. He was dressed in a bespoke Italian suit, holding an open glass of my thirty-year-old scotch. beside him stood Hilda, holding a leather briefcase packed with documents.
Four armed mercenaries stood around them.
"Arthur!" Richard gasped, almost spilling his drink as I walked into the room, covered in mud, blood, and rain, holding a tactical weapon leveled straight at his chest. "Put the gun down, Arthur! Let's talk about this like businessmen!"
"You stood at my wife's funeral," I said, my voice dangerously steady as I stepped into the light. "You held my hand while they lowered an empty coffin into the ground."
Richard’s suave facade cracked, revealing the pathetic, desperate coward underneath. "She was going to ruin everything, Arthur! You were going to pull out of the Vanguard deal! That merger was worth four hundred million dollars! I couldn't let your sentimental nonsense destroy this company!"
"Where is she, Richard?" I asked, taking another step forward. The four mercenaries raised their weapons, red laser dots dancing across my chest.
"She's dead, Arthur," Hilda sneered from behind Richard, her eyes glittering with madness. "She died in that ditch in the woods tonight! My men shot her! She's bleeding out right now, and nobody is coming to save her!"
I didn't answer. Instead, I looked at the lead mercenary—the man holding a heavy assault rifle aimed at my forehead.
"How much is he paying you?" I asked the man coldly.
The mercenary hesitated. "Five hundred thousand for the contract."
"I'll give you ten million dollars right now," I said without breaking eye contact. "Five million to take your men and walk out that door. Another five million if you put a bullet through Richard Sterling's knee."
"Arthur, don't listen to him! He's bluffing!" Richard screamed, panic rising in his voice.
"Check my account balance," I told the mercenary chief. "You know who I am. You know I have the liquid capital. Sterling is a bankrupt parasite clinging to my coat-tails. When this night ends, he has nothing. I have everything."
The room went dead silent. The heavy tension stretched until it felt like a wire about to snap.
The lead mercenary slowly lowered his weapon. He looked at Richard, then back at me.
"Ten million?" the commander asked.
"Ten million," I repeated. "Transferred to an offshore account in Zurich before sunrise."
The commander turned his head slightly toward his team. "Lower your weapons."
"What are you doing?!" Richard shrieked, backing away toward the fireplace. "I hired you! I'm the one paying you!"
"You're paying half a million, mate," the mercenary commander scoffed, stepping aside. "He just made us retired men. Deal's a deal."
Hilda’s eyes went wide with pure terror. She realized in an instant that her authority, her money, and her protection had vanished into thin air. She bolted for the hallway leading to the underground tunnel.
I didn't rush. I raised my weapon, took aim, and fired a single round.
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The bullet struck the marble floor an inch in front of her feet, sending sharp stone shrapnel flying into her shins. She shrieked and fell hard onto her face, dropping the leather briefcase.
"You don't get to run, Hilda," I said, walking slowly toward her as she writhed on the floor. "You have a dinner appointment to keep."
