Chapter 8 - THE WALLS CAVE IN"FBI! CLEVELAND POLICE DEPARTMENT! NOBODY MOVE!"
The booming voice of Detective Thomas Vance echoed through the grand foyer like thunder. Within seconds, a dozen tactical officers clad in heavy body armor and holding drawn weapons swarmed into the dining room, their tactical flashlights cutting through the dim candlelight.
Julian spun around, his face draining of all color in a single, catastrophic heartbeat. The pen slipped from his fingers, clattering uselessly against the hardwood floor.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Julian shouted, his voice cracking as panic finally pierced his polished facade. "You have no jurisdiction here! I am a corporate executive—"
"You're a financial terrorist, a fraudster, and a conspiring murderer," Detective Vance said, stepping forward through the circle of armed officers with a pair of steel handcuffs gleaming in his hand.
Julian looked wildly around the room, his eyes finally landing on me sitting calmly at the head of the table, sipping my glass of water.
"Clara..." he whispered, realization dawning with sickening horror across his face. "You... you set me up."
"Not me, Julian," I said, standing up slowly and smoothing out the fabric of my dress. "You built a house of cards out of lies, forgery, and blood. I just finally lit the match."
Detective Vance slammed Julian against the mahogany dining table, pinning his arms behind his back with brutal efficiency. The cold click of the handcuffs echoing through the room was the sweetest sound I had ever heard.
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"Julian Sterling, you are under arrest for attempted murder, wire fraud, identity theft, and conspiracy to commit contract assassination," Vance recited crisply as he read him his rights.
As they dragged Julian away toward the front door—his expensive shoes scuffing against the pristine floorboards, screaming curses and threats of high-priced lawyers—I stood by the window and watched the flashing red and blue lights of the police cruisers illuminate the foggy night.
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