Chapter 9 - Checkmate
The heavy stun baton hissed with a lethal blue arc of electricity as the second man advanced from the balcony shadows, blocking my only exit toward the hallway. Marcus stood just six feet away, his hand extended outward, waiting for me to panic, drop the weapon, and surrender to the inevitable.
They thought they had won. They thought I was still the quiet, broken woman who drank poisoned vitamins and cried silently in cafés.
They didn't know that when I called Victor from the 42nd-floor office at dawn, we hadn't just frozen corporate accounts.
I gave a cold, thin smile that instantly wiped the smug arrogance off Marcus’s face.
"You really should have checked my phone records before you broke into my house, Marcus," I said softly.
Marcus frowned, his hand halting mid-air. "What are you talking about?"
"When I dialed Victor this morning, my phone wasn't on a standard cellular call," I replied, pressing my thumb against the panic button integrated directly into the smart-home security panel embedded in the bedroom wall. "It was an open, encrypted, live-streaming audio link directly patched into the Denver Police Department's Major Crimes Division and the federal financial task force."
A fraction of a second later, the heavy front doors downstairs blew open with a deafening crash. Heavy combat boots thundered up the grand staircase like a stampede of warhorses.
"Federal agents! Drop your weapons!" a chorus of deep, authoritative voices roared from the hallway.
Before Marcus or his accomplice could react, flashbang grenades detonated in the corridor, flooding the master suite with blinding white light and deafening concussive shockwaves. The burly henchman dropped instantly, blinded and disoriented, as tactical officers swarmed the room, pinning him face-down to the Italian tiles.
Marcus lunged forward in a desperate attempt to grab my wrist, but I pivoted smoothly, sidestepping his reach and bringing the heavy steel butt of my Smith & Wesson down across his collarbone with bone-crushing force. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air as federal agents swarmed over him, snapping heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists.
As they dragged him past me toward the balcony exit, Marcus looked up, his face twisted in absolute hatred and disbelief.
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"You can't win, Elena," he choked out as the officers hauled him away. "The Vance family name will destroy you in the end!"
"The Vance family name died tonight," I said quietly, leveling my gaze at him one last time. "I am an Elena."
