Chapter 6 - The Trap ClosesPanic flashed across Richard Vance’s face. He lunged forward, grabbing Nathan by the lapels of his shirt, his composure completely shattering.
"Give me that pen!" Richard screamed, spittle flying from his lips. "You think you can ruin everything I've built? You think the board is going to let you destroy this company?"
Before Nathan could push him away, heavy footsteps echoed down the tiled corridor.
From around the corner, three men in plain black tactical gear appeared, their hands resting on the sidearms holstered at their waists. Horizon’s private security detail had arrived.
"Mr. Vance!" the lead guard called out, drawing his weapon. "Shall we secure the perimeter?"
Richard shoved Nathan backward against the wall, his breathing ragged and furious. His eyes were wild with desperation.
"Kill him," Richard hissed to the guards, pointing a trembling finger at Nathan. "Make it look like he broke in, fell down the elevator shaft, and broke his neck. Stage the scene. Now."
The three guards drew their weapons, stepping forward in unison, their boots clicking sharply against the floor.
Nathan didn't flinch. He stood his ground against the cold tile wall, his hand still clenching the recording pen in his pocket.
"You're too late, Richard," Nathan said calmly. "Samuel didn't just stay in the car. The moment I stepped into this elevator, he triggered an automated protocol. If I don't deactivate it from my phone every ten minutes, an encrypted backup of this entire conversation automatically downloads directly to the U.S. Attorney's office."
The lead guard hesitated, looking back at Richard. "Sir... is that true?"
"Don't listen to him! He's bluffing! Shoot him!" Richard roared.
The guard raised his weapon, his finger tightening on the trigger.
BANG.
A deafening gunshot echoed through the sub-basement.
Nathan closed his eyes for a split second, bracing for the impact.
But the bullet didn't hit him.
Instead, the lead guard dropped his weapon with a sharp cry, clutching his right shoulder as blood seeped through his tactical vest.
Down the corridor, emerging from the maintenance stairwell behind the security guards, stood Samuel Brooks. In his hands, he held a heavy-duty tactical shotgun he had pulled from the trunk of the Lincoln.
"Drop your weapons!" Samuel roared, his voice echoing like thunder off the concrete walls. "Federal marshals are already five minutes out. Drop them or you don't walk out of here!"
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The remaining two guards looked at each other, looked at their wounded leader, and slowly lowered their firearms to the floor, raising their hands in surrender.
Richard Vance staggered backward, his face turning an ash-gray color as he realized the game was finally, irrevocably over.
