Chapter 8 - Storm on the Helipad
Rain lashed across the rooftop helipad on the 50th floor of the Vance Pharma tower. Thunder boomed across the Boston coastline, drowning out the deafening roar of the helicopter’s spinning rotor blades.
Victor Vance, dressed in a heavy dark trench coat, was frantically tossing silver executive briefcases into the open side door of the twin-engine Eurocopter.
"VICTOR!" I roared, stepping out onto the wet asphalt roof, the rain instantly soaking my tuxedo shirt.
Victor spun around, pulling a snub-nosed revolver from his coat pocket. His face was twisted with maniacal rage, his gray hair plastered to his forehead by the pouring rain. "Stay back, Marcus! I built this empire! I am not going to let a weak, sentimental tech nerd dismantle my life's work!"
"You killed my wife!" I shouted, taking a slow, calculated step forward through the downpour, ignoring the gun pointed at my heart. "You poisoned my six-year-old daughter! You ruined lives for money!"
"Isabella was getting in my way!" Victor screamed over the roar of the helicopter engine. "She was soft! Just like her father! And Chloe was a useless pawn that stood between me and four hundred million dollars!"
"You are a monster, Victor!" Eleanor shouted, stepping out onto the rooftop beside me, letting the freezing rain wash over her face. "You aren't my brother anymore! You're nothing!"
Victor’s eyes widened with fury. He raised the gun, aiming directly at Eleanor's chest. "Then you can join your beloved daughter-in-law in hell, Eleanor!"
BANG!
A loud gunshot cracked through the storm—but it didn't come from Victor's weapon.
Victor stiffened, dropping his gun onto the wet roof. He looked down in disbelief at his shoulder, where a red spot was rapidly expanding across his white shirt.
Behind us, the rooftop access doors flew open. A squad of armored FBI SWAT officers poured onto the helipad, their tactical lasers painting Victor’s chest with dozens of bright red dots.
"FEDERAL AGENTS! DROP TO YOUR KNEES! DO IT NOW!" shouted the lead agent over a megaphone.
Victor looked at the red laser dots on his chest, then at me, then at Eleanor. He realized there was no escape, no jurisdiction in the world that would shelter him, and no money left to buy his freedom. Slowly, pathetically, he sank to his knees in the freezing rain, holding his bleeding shoulder, weeping as federal agents tackled him to the deck and slapped heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists.
The FBI lead director walked up to me, extending his hand. "Marcus Montgomery? I'm Director Miller, FBI Boston Field Office. We received the encrypted files from your wife's flash drive ten minutes ago. Federal warrants have been executed across all Vance Pharma facilities. Your daughter is safe."
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I shook his hand, feeling a profound, overwhelming weight lifted off my chest for the first time in two years. I looked at my mother, who was wiping rain from her eyes, smiling through her tears.
"We did it, Marcus," Eleanor whispered, wrapping her arms tightly around me in the freezing rain. "We saved her."
