Chapter 5 - THE EMPIRE CRUMBLES
"The live stream had 40 million viewers. And the cops were already inside."Inside the penthouse, Marcus Sterling was pouring himself a glass of 50-year-old scotch, celebrating another successful acquisition of a human soul.
Suddenly, his private desk phone began ringing off the hook. Then his personal cell phone. Then the emergency intercom on the wall began blaring continuously.
"What is the meaning of this?" Marcus barked, picking up his personal line.
"MR. STERLING! TURN ON THE TV RIGHT NOW!" his Chief Public Relations Officer screamed frantically through the speaker. "IT'S EVERYWHERE! IT'S VIRAL!"
Marcus grabbed the TV remote and smashed the power button.
The massive wall-mounted screen flickered to life, showing CNN’s breaking news banner in bright red:
BREAKING NEWS: BILLIONAIRE MARCUS STERLING EXPOSED IN LIVE-STREAMED MURDER CONFESSION.
Marcus dropped his glass of scotch. It shattered across the hardwood floor.
On the screen was crystal-clear, high-definition video and audio of Marcus standing in his office, boasting about playing God, murdering Leo Vance, and setting up young men for insurance fraud.
In the corner of the broadcast, a live counter showed the audience metrics: 42,800,000 VIEWS AND COUNTING.
"No... no, no, no!" Marcus roared, throwing the remote through the television screen, shattering the glass panel. "Block the signal! Shut down the servers! CUT THE POWER!"
"We can't, sir!" his manager yelled back over the phone. "The stream is routed through hundreds of decentralized offshore servers! It's impossible to take down!"
Suddenly, a loud, thunderous explosion echoed from the elevator bank down the hall.
BOOM!
The heavy mahogany doors of the penthouse were blown off their hinges by a tactical breaching charge. Smoke billowed into the room as a squad of heavily armed FBI SWAT agents poured into the office, laser sights sweeping the room.
"FBI! GET ON THE GROUND! NOW!"
"DO NOT MOVE!"
Marcus’s bodyguards immediately dropped their weapons and raised their hands, pressing themselves against the floor.
Marcus stood frozen in the center of the room, his expensive suit stained with scotch, his face twisted in utter disbelief.
"You can't do this to me!" Marcus shrieked, his voice cracking like a child's. "I build this city! I own the judges! I own the mayor! You know who I am?!"
An FBI Lead Agent stepped through the smoke, pulling out a pair of heavy steel handcuffs.
"We know exactly who you are, Mr. Sterling," the agent said coldly. "Marcus Sterling, you are under arrest for first-degree murder, conspiracy to commit murder, wire fraud, and grand corporate treason. You have the right to remain silent..."
As the agents slammed the billionaire face-first onto his glass desk and snapped the cuffs onto his wrists, Marcus looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows.
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Down on the street, eighty stories below, a massive crowd of pedestrians had gathered, looking up at the tower. Standing at the front of the crowd was Julian Vance.
Julian caught Marcus’s eye through the glass, raised his hand, and gave him a slow, mocking two-finger salute.
