Chapter 16 - The Boardroom SummitThe mahogany double doors leading from the grand staircase into the estate’s executive boardroom stood slightly ajar. Faint, muffled voices drifted down the hallway, accompanied by the clinking of crystal glasses and the low, tense murmur of an ongoing argument.
"...the Chicago asset failed us completely," a raspy, elderly voice sneered from inside the room. "Vane was an arrogant liability. Now Mercer is sniffing around our financial records in Detroit, and the federal oversight committee is asking uncomfortable questions about the pharmaceutical trials."
"Calm down, General," a second, smoother voice replied—cold, calculated, and terrifyingly familiar. "Mercer is a blunt instrument. He thinks he's fighting a vendetta for his dead wife, but he's walking right into a slaughterhouse. Once the regional cleanup crew finishes securing the perimeter, this entire mess will be swept under the rug."
My hand tightened around the grip of my pistol. Richard Sterling.
I motioned to Marcus and Elena, signaling the breach. Marcus took the left flank of the double doors; Elena slid silently to the right. I positioned myself dead-center.
On my silent count of three, we kicked the doors open simultaneously.
"Federal audit," I announced, my voice cutting through the smoky air of the boardroom like a blade.
The room erupted into instant chaos. Four heavily armed private bodyguards stationed around the perimeter of the mahogany conference table scrambled for their sidearms, but Marcus and Elena moved faster than lightning. Two crisp cracks from silenced carbines dropped the lead guards before their weapons cleared their holsters. The remaining two raised their hands instantly, dropping their sidearms to the polished hardwood floor.
At the head of the long table sat an elderly man with immaculate silver hair, tailored bespoke suit, and cold, calculating eyes that didn't even flicker with fear.
Senator Richard Sterling.
He didn't flinch. He slowly took a sip of his scotch, setting the crystal glass down on the mahogany surface with a soft, deliberate clink.
"Lawson Mercer," Sterling said, a thin, patronizing smile touching his lips. "I must admit, I expected more subtlety from the great Mercer dynasty. You walk into my home like an executioner, but you’re completely blind to the trap closing around you."
I stepped into the room, my boots echoing off the floor as I pointed my pistol directly between his eyes.
"The only thing closing around you, Sterling, is a shallow grave," I said coldly. "You killed Genevieve. You tried to murder my children. And right now, there isn't enough money, power, or political immunity on earth that can save you."
Sterling chuckled softly—a dry, rasping sound that made my blood boil.
"Kill me, and you'll never find out the truth," Sterling whispered, leaning forward in his leather chair. "You think Genevieve was an innocent victim caught in the crossfire? You think she was just investigating a pharmaceutical trial?"
May you like
He paused, casting a slow, knowing glance toward Elena standing by the doorway.
"Ask your precious tech assistant, Lawson," Sterling smiled wickedly. "Ask her whose signature was on the original manufacturing patent for the synthetic pathogen that was injected into your children's veins."
