Chapter 6 - The Shattered Glass
The front doors of the Sterling mansion swung open with a resounding bang that rattled the crystal chandeliers overhead.
Inside the grand ballroom, the party had long disintegrated into a nightmare. Julian had broken into his father’s vintage liquor cabinet, his silk robe stained with bourbon, his hair wild and disheveled. Eleanor was furiously packing emerald necklaces and bearer bonds into an alligator-skin travel bag in the center of the foyer.
When she saw Reynolds enter with drawn guns, flanked by my Aegis operators and myself, she let out a shriek of triumph.
"Donald! Thank God!" Eleanor cried, rushing toward the Chief of Police. "Arrest this barbarian! He has held my guests hostage! He broke my custom leaded-glass windows! I want him in handcuffs this instant!"
Chief Reynolds didn't step forward to protect her. He signaled his lead deputy.
"Eleanor Sterling," Reynolds said with cold, formal detachment. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit first-degree murder, felony insurance fraud, and criminal reckless endangerment."
Eleanor stopped dead in her tracks, her jaw dropping. "What? Have you lost your mind, Donald? We play tennis together! My late husband paid for your reelection campaign!"
"Your husband isn't here, Eleanor," I said, stepping past Reynolds. "And neither is your money."
Julian stumbled back against the grand piano, knocking over a crystal decanter that shattered on the hardwood. "Julian!" Eleanor screamed. "Call Arthur! Where is Arthur?"
"Arthur Vance resigned his legal representation twenty minutes ago," I informed them. "Right after he handed over the digital keys to your Cayman escrow accounts to save his own license."
Julian’s eyes went wide with pure terror. "No... no, no, no. That's impossible. You can't touch those accounts! Those are protected!"
"Those accounts were funded by predatory life insurance policies taken out against my daughter without her legal consent," I said, pulling up a digital file on my tablet and turning it toward Julian. "The moment you tried to execute a payout clause based on her death, you triggered federal anti-money laundering statutes. As of twelve minutes ago, the Treasury Department froze every dollar tied to Oak Creek Holdings."
Julian looked at the screen. The balance read: $0.00.
"My money..." Julian whimpered, his knees buckling slightly. "All of it... my mother's trust... the estate..."
"It’s gone, Julian," I said, taking another step forward. "The mansion is going to federal auction. The cars are being impounded. The country club membership you used to lord over Chloe has been revoked. You are bankrupt. You are homeless. And in approximately one hour, you will be sitting in a high-security holding cell at the county detention facility."
"You ruined me!" Julian suddenly screamed, the liquor and terror fusing into a blind, reckless fury. He snatched a heavy silver candelabra from the sideboard, his eyes bloodshot, his face contorted in rage. "She was a nobody! A low-class soldier's brat! I gave her a name! I gave her this house! She was supposed to die down there and solve my problems!"
He lunged toward me, raising the heavy silver weapon with both hands, aiming directly for my skull.
I didn't blink.
I stepped inside the arc of his swing, parried his right forearm with my left palm, and struck his solar plexus with an open palm strike that knocked every molecule of air from his lungs. Julian wheezed, his eyes bulging as the candelabra clattered harmlessly to the rug.
Before he could hit the floor, I caught him by the silk collar of his robe, spun him around, and slammed him chest-first against the marble banister of the grand staircase—the exact staircase he had kicked my pregnant daughter down hours earlier.
"You like pushing people down stairs, Julian?" I whispered into his ear, my voice trembling with the effort it took not to snap his neck on the spot.
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"P-please..." Julian sobbed, tears and snot streaming down his face as he wet himself in front of his elite socialite friends. "Please, Marcus... don't kill me... I'm sorry... I'm sorry!"
"You're not sorry you did it," I said, wrenching his arms behind his back as Chief Reynolds clicked a pair of heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists. "You're just sorry she had a father who knows how to hunt monsters."
