Chapter 6 - THE FALL OF THE TRINITYAt 3:45 AM, the storm hit peak intensity over Long Island. Lightning illuminated the sprawling, iron-gated mansion of Arthur Cole.
Inside the grand study, four people sat around a glass table: Arthur Cole, Senator Evelyn Hale, billionaire founder Thomas Whitmore, and Marcus Kane—a scarred, grey-haired man playing with a tactical knife.
"I don't care what it costs!" Arthur Cole slammed his fist on the table. "My son is being held in some basement! The police won't answer my calls! Find this 'Daniel Walker' and kill him!"
"Relax, Arthur," Marcus Kane drawled, his voice like gravel. "Walker is just a ghost-chaser. My men are already surrounding the hospital. We'll grab the girl again, draw him out, and end this."
BOOM.
The lights in the mansion instantly cut out. Emergency red lights flickered on.
Outside, the frantic barking of guard dogs suddenly ceased.
"What was that?" Senator Hale stood up, her voice trembling.
"Power cut," Marcus said, drawing his weapon calmly. "Stay behind me. My perimeter guards will—"
Before he could finish, the heavy oak doors of the study exploded inward, splintering into hundreds of lethal shards.
Through the dust and smoke, a single figure walked in. Black suit. Tactical vest. The silver-and-black mask reflecting the faint red emergency light.
Marcus dropped his knife. His breath hitched.
"No..." Marcus whispered, stepping back. "No, it's impossible... you died in Berlin!"
"I died to protect my child, Marcus," my voice echoed, deepened by the mask’s scrambler. "But you brought me back."
"KILL HIM!" Arthur Cole screamed to the two armed Vanguard mercenaries standing guard.
They raised their assault rifles, but I was faster.
Two suppressed shots rang out. Pfft. Pfft.
Both mercenaries dropped instantly before they could even disengage their safeties.
Thomas Whitmore fell out of his chair, crawling backward toward the curtain. "Please! Take whatever you want! Money! Stock! Anything!"
I walked over, grabbed Thomas Whitmore by his collar, and threw a thick folder onto the table.
"That is the complete audit of your offshore shell companies," I said. "Sent to the IRS, the SEC, and the Department of Justice three minutes ago. You are broke, Thomas. Your assets are frozen. Your university building will be renamed by morning."
I turned to Senator Hale. "And your resignation letter has already been delivered to the Governor’s office, along with the wiretap recordings of your bribe arrangements."
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Senator Hale collapsed into a chair, staring into space, completely broken.
Now, only Marcus Kane remained standing, his gun raised, aiming directly at my chest.
