Chapter 8 - THE WOLF'S TRAPThree days later, in a maximum-security holding facility in downtown Manhattan, Damian Mercer sat behind a reinforced glass partition.
His custom Italian suit was gone, replaced by a standard orange jumpsuit. His hair was unwashed, and the billionaire arrogance that had defined his existence had been replaced by a hollow, desperate fury.
When the heavy steel door buzzed and I walked into the visitation booth, Damian leaped to his feet, slamming his fists against the glass.
"Mara! You bitch!" he screamed, his voice muffled by the thick acoustic barrier. He picked up the wall phone, and a second later, my handset buzzed.
I picked it up slowly, holding his gaze through the glass.
"You set me up!" Damian snarled, his face twisted in venomous hatred. "You and that senile old man! You stole my life! I'm a Harvard graduate! I ran Blackthorne! I belong at the top!"
"You belong in a cell, Damian," I replied, my voice calm and steady. "You thought power was about shouting loudest, buying the best lawyers, and crushing people who couldn't breathe. But real power isn't loud."
I tapped the glass with my fingernail.
"Real power is code. It's architecture. It's patience."
"Let me out!" Damian pleaded, his voice cracking, the false bravado entirely melting away into pathetic desperation. "Please, Mara! Aunt Celeste is crying every day! We'll leave the country! We'll give up all claims to the family name! Just drop the charges!"
I looked at him for a long, silent moment.
I remembered the marble floor of St. Jude's Cathedral. I remembered the burning agony in my chest as my only inhaler hissed its last breath into the carpet while he laughed.
"When you crushed my inhaler, Damian, you thought you were eliminating a weak peasant," I said softly into the phone. "You forgot that peasants build the walls kings stand on."
I hung up the handset, ignoring his hysterical screaming, and turned around.
The prison guard unlocked the door for me.
May you like
As I walked out into the sunlight of Manhattan, the city stretched out before me—millions of lights, skyscrapers, and digital networks pulsing beneath the autumn sky.
It was all mine.
