Chapter 3 - COUNTER-ATTACKI didn't answer. I stepped between the man and the hospital bed, shifting my weight to the balls of my feet.
"You're in the wrong hospital room, pal," I said, keeping my tone relaxed to mask the surge of adrenaline. "And you're making a massive tactical error."
The man smiled thinly, pulling a suppressed pistol halfway out of his jacket. "Your father owes fifty million dollars to people who don't accept bankruptcy as an excuse, Sergeant. That drive contains the codes to the escrow accounts. Hand it over, or this ICU becomes a crime scene."
He didn't know who he was dealing with. He saw a tired soldier in a dirty uniform. He didn't see eight years of special operations training.
In one fluid motion, I grabbed the heavy plastic IV pole beside the bed and slammed it across his forearm. The gun clattered to the floor. Before he could react, I closed the distance, driving my elbow hard into his solar plexus, followed by a sweeping kick that drove him to his knees. I pinned his arm behind his back and slammed his face into the linoleum floor, securing the dropped weapon in seconds.
"Who sent you?" I growled, pressing the barrel of his own gun against the base of his neck. "Talk, or I guarantee you won't walk out of this building."
"Marcus..." the man gasped, choking for air. "Marcus Vance... Vance Global..."
My mind raced. Marcus Vance was my father's primary investor—a billionaire defense contractor with massive political sway in Washington. If Vance was involved, this wasn't just a family fraud case. This was a national security breach.
I used the man's own zip-ties from his tactical belt to bind his hands and feet, dragging him into the attached bathroom and locking the door. I called my contact at CID immediately.
"Captain Vance," I said into the phone as soon as he picked up. "We have a critical escalation. Richard Miller isn't acting alone. Marcus Vance just sent a hitman to my wife's hospital room."
"What?!" Vance’s voice crackled over the line. "Daniel, stay where you are. We’re sending a federal escort to secure your family. Where is the evidence?"
"I have it," I said, looking down at the small micro-SD card in my palm. "And it's bigger than we thought. It’s not just fraud. It’s treason."
Twenty minutes later, a team of armored federal marshals secured the floor, moving Claire and Lily to a safe location under armed guard. With my family secured, I knew I couldn't stay on the defensive. My father and his high-powered cronies thought they could crush a simple sergeant. They thought money bought immunity.
It was time to show them what happens when you corner a predator.
I drove straight to my father’s corporate headquarters in downtown Richmond. The storm was still raging, snow falling in thick sheets, blinding the streets. The massive glass tower was lit up like a Christmas tree, despite it being two in the morning. Vance’s lawyers and cleanup crews were undoubtedly inside, trying to wipe the servers before the federal search warrants could be executed.
I pulled my truck into the underground garage, bypassing the security gate with my father's master keycard—the one thing he forgot I had copied three years ago when I helped him upgrade his security system.
I rode the elevator to the top floor, the heavy dossier under my arm and the micro-SD card in my pocket.
When the elevator doors slid open on the 40th floor, I didn't find corporate accountants burning papers.
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I found my father, sitting at his massive desk, drinking whiskey, surrounded by three men in dark suits. And sitting across from him, swilling an expensive cigar, was Marcus Vance himself.
"Ah, Daniel," Vance said, turning around slowly with an amused smile. "We were just talking about you."
