Chapter 4 - The Barrel of a GunThe cold steel barrel of the pistol gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights of the vault. Victor stepped inside, his polished Italian leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the marble floor. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and completely devoid of human empathy.
“I must admit, Sofia, I underestimated you,” Victor sneered, keeping the gun locked dead-center on her chest. “I thought the neurotoxin had rotted your brain along with your optic nerves. I should have finished the job fifteen years ago, right beside your dear parents.”
Sofia didn’t flinch. She stood tall, holding the heavy leather-bound will tightly against her ribs. Even without sight, she could pinpoint his exact location by the sound of his breathing and the subtle shift of air currents in the enclosed space.
“You killed them,” Sofia said, her voice terrifyingly calm, carrying zero fear. “And you stole my life, my sight, and my heritage.”
“‘Stolen’ is such an ugly word, my dear niece,” Victor laughed, a dark, chilling sound. “In this world, there is no right or wrong. There is only power and the people too weak to hold it. And you? You are blind, helpless, and about to suffer a tragic, accidental fall down the grand staircase of your own estate. How poetic, don't you think?”
Victor slowly squeezed his finger against the trigger. The safety clicked off with a sharp, metallic snap.
“Any last words, little girl?” Victor whispered, a cruel smirk spreading across his face.
“Just one,” Sofia said, her lips curving into a fierce smile. “Smile for the camera, Uncle.”
Before Victor could process her words, the reinforced steel door of the vault was suddenly blown inward with a deafening blast of compressed nitrogen.
BOOM!
The heavy door slammed backward, catching Victor square in the chest and sending him flying across the room, his pistol clattering out of his hand and skidding across the marble floor.
Through the smoking wreckage strode a tactical squad of French National Police, led by none other than Commander Marc Laurent—the most incorruptible anti-corruption inspector in Paris—alongside Leo, who was holding a high-definition encrypted streaming tablet.
“Victor Sterling!” Commander Laurent roared, stepping forward with his service weapon drawn. “You are under arrest for corporate espionage, premeditated murder, conspiracy, and the illegal administration of neurotoxins to a minor!”
Victor groaned, clutching his bruised ribs as he struggled to sit up against the vault wall. He looked up, his eyes darting from the police officers to the tablet in Leo’s hands, where a live global broadcast feed showed millions of viewers watching the entire confession play out live on the internet.
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“It’s a setup! Fake news!” Victor shrieked, scrambling backward like a cornered rat. “I am a pillar of society! You can’t touch me!”
“The law can’t, maybe,” Leo stepped forward, looking down at the broken titan with cold, unforgiving eyes. “But the truth always collects its debts.”
