Chapter 9 - The Fall of Richard Sterling
"You really are a devoted husband, aren't you?" Richard said softly, shutting the library door and locking it with a heavy brass key. "Foolish, but devoted."
I stood my ground by the fireplace, my fingers tightening around the velvet pouch in my pocket. "It's over, Richard. The FDA and the FBI already have copies of your trial data."
Richard chuckled, stepping closer, his gun never wavering from my heart. "Nice try, Ethan. But Detective Lin’s private network was jammed three hours ago. Nobody has received anything. And once I put a bullet through your head and burn this hard drive in that fireplace, Lena will have no one left to fight for her."
"You killed her mother, didn't you?" I asked, keeping my voice calm, buying every second I could.
Richard’s smile faded, replaced by an ugly, arrogant sneer. "Victoria was weak. She wanted to donate thirty percent of the company’s profits to public research. I couldn't let her destroy my legacy. A simple alteration to her blood pressure medication... and she went to sleep peacefully. Just like Lena was supposed to."
"You're a monster," I said.
"I am a billionaire, Ethan," Richard corrected him, his finger tightening on the trigger. "And billionaires write the history books. Goodbye, schoolteacher."
Click.
Richard blinked. He pulled the trigger again.
Click.
A look of sudden, panicked confusion washed over his face as he looked down at his firearm. The magazine was gone.
"Looking for this?"
A sharp voice echoed from the shadows behind the leather armchair.
Detective Lin stepped into the firelight, holding the pistol’s loaded magazine in her gloved hand. Before Richard could react, she lunged forward, executing a flawless martial arts disarm, slamming Richard’s hand against the edge of the mahogany desk.
The pistol clattered to the floor.
Richard gasped, stumbling back, but as he reached for the desk drawer where a backup gun was hidden, the heavy double doors of the library were kicked open with a thunderous crash!
"FEDERAL AGENTS! DON'T MOVE!"
A dozen heavily armed FBI agents in blue jackets flooded the room, their rifle laser sights locking onto Richard Sterling’s chest. Behind them walked the United States Attorney for the Eastern District of New York.
"Richard Sterling," the U.S. Attorney declared, stepping forward with a warrant. "You are under arrest for federal conspiracy to commit murder, illegal bio-weapons production, corporate fraud, and the attempted murder of Ethan and Lena Cole."
Richard stared at the federal agents, his face turning the color of chalk. "This... this is an outrage! I am Richard Sterling! You can't arrest me in my own home!"
"Oh, it's not just your home, Richard," I said, stepping forward and pulling my phone from my pocket.
I flipped the screen toward him.
A live broadcast feed was showing on the display. The lapel pin on my tuxedo wasn't a decoration—it was a high-definition wireless microphone and camera. Every single word Richard had spoken—his confession to murdering Victoria, his plan to execute me, and his bio-weapon sales—had been broadcast live onto the jumbo screens downstairs in the grand ballroom, and streamed directly to federal prosecutors.
Downstairs, the sound of gasping high-society guests and furious shouts echoed through the floorboards.
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Richard dropped to his knees on the Persian rug, his hands shaking violently as the FBI agents forced his arms behind his back and snapped the steel handcuffs shut.
As they dragged the crying, ruined billionaire down the grand staircase past hundreds of flashing news cameras, I walked out into the cool night air, taking a deep, free breath for the first time in weeks.
