Chapter 6 - THE COURTMARTIAL OF ARTHURS VANEI was dragged onto the teak deck of my father’s mega-yacht in heavy iron chains.
Ethan stood over me, his face twisted in a cruel, triumphant sneer. He slammed his heavy leather boot directly into my ribs, knocking the air out of my lungs. I collapsed onto the deck, coughing up blood.
“Look at the great Julian,” Ethan mocked, bending down and grabbing me by my hair, pulling my head back. “The smart brother. The lawyer. Look at you now, kneeling in my blood.”
“Where is the girl? Where is the baby?” my father asked, walking over slowly. He was sipping his scotch, completely unbothered by the rain.
I spat a mouthful of blood onto his expensive shoes.
“They’re dead,” I lied, grinning through my bloodied teeth. “I locked them in the cabin and scuttled the boat. They’re at the bottom of the reef, Father. You get nothing. No heir. No land. No legal claim.”
Ethan’s face went dead pale. “WHAT?! YOU KILLED THEM?!”
“Shut up, Ethan!” my father barked. He bent down, staring deep into my eyes, searching for a sign of a lie. “He’s bluffing. Search the wreck!”
Two divers plunged into the water toward my sunken interceptor. Ten minutes passed in agonizing silence.
Finally, one of the divers surfaced and called out: “The boat is empty! The emergency pod hatch was released!”
My father’s eyes narrowed into slits of lethal rage. He struck me across the face with the heavy ring on his finger, splitting my lip open.
“Where did they go, Julian?” he growled. “WHERE IS THE CHIP?!”
“You’re too late, Father,” I wheezed, laughing quietly. “By now, Vanessa has reached the mainland. The Federal Marshals have the data. Your shell companies, your corrupt judges, your illegal weapons pipelines... it’s all over.”
“You think the Federal Marshals care about a few stolen land deeds?” my father laughed coldly. “Julian, you truly are ignorant of how the real world works. Who do you think funds the Director of the Federal Marshals? Who do you think bought his seat in Washington?”
He pulled out his satellite phone, dialed a speed-dial number, and put it on speaker.
“Director Vance here,” a deep, authoritative voice answered over the line.
“Vance,” my father spoke smoothly. “My son claims a woman named Vanessa and my daughter-in-law are heading toward your district office with incriminating data regarding the harbor expansion project.”
“Already handled, Arthur,” Director Vance replied calmly over the phone. “We intercepted their emergency pod as soon as it hit the shoreline. The woman, Vanessa, was neutralized. Claire and the child are currently in our custody at the Federal Holding Facility downtown.”
My heart plummeted into a dark, bottomless abyss.
Vanessa... neutralized? Claire... captured?
“No...” I whispered, the strength completely draining from my body. “No, no, nono...”
“Bring them to the estate,” my father ordered Vance. “We will finish this family business tonight once and for all.”
“Understood, Arthur. We arrive in twenty minutes.”
My father hung up the phone and looked down at me with supreme contempt.
“You see, Julian?” he said, adjusting his cuffs. “You played chess. But I own the board, the pieces, and the room we’re sitting in. You never had a chance.”
He turned to his armed guards. “Take him back to the estate. Lock him in the sub-basement vaults. Once Director Vance arrives with Claire and the child, we will force Claire to sign the final transfer papers, and then... we eliminate all the loose ends.”
Two hours later, I was thrown onto the cold concrete floor of the estate’s underground vault—the high-security bunker built underneath our burning mansion.
My arms were chained above my head to a iron pipe on the wall. My body was broken, bruised, and bleeding.
The heavy steel door opened, and my mother walked in, holding a tray with a silver syringe and a bottle of clear liquid.
“Don't look at me like that, Julian,” she said softly, filling the syringe with systematic precision. “A mother must do what is best for the family legacy. You were always too soft. Too much like your grandfather.”
“You’re a monster,” I choked out, staring at the needle.
“No, I am a survivor,” she corrected, stepping closer to my pinned arms. “This is a lethal dose of potassium chloride. It mimics a sudden, massive heart attack. When the police find your body in the woods tomorrow, they will say the stress of your fugitive run finally caught up with you.”
She wiped my arm with an alcohol swab, her touch sickeningly gentle.
“Any last words, my son?” she asked, hovering the needle over my vein.
I looked up at her, my eyes blazing with absolute, unadulterated hatred.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Look behind you.”
Before she could turn, a shadow detached itself from the darkness of the corridor outside. A heavy gloved hand reached around my mother’s mouth, snapping her head back, while a tactical knife flashed in the dim light.
My mother let out a muffled gasp, her eyes wide with shock, as she collapsed onto the floor.
Standing over her body was Vanessa.
May you like
Her face was bruised, her clothes covered in mud and blood, but she was holding a suppressed pistol and a key ring.
“Did you really think a dirty cop like Director Vance could catch me?” Vanessa smirked, tossing the keys to my chains. “I swapped the GPS tracker on the pod twenty minutes before we hit the beach.”
