Chapter 8 - The Lawyer Who Sold My Soul
The heavy footsteps reached the second-floor landing.
"Alex Mercer!" Miller yelled, his voice bouncing off the high vaulted ceilings.
"Step out with your hands up!"
I didn't answer.
I picked up the green lockbox with my left hand and kept my Sig Sauer leveled at the door.
Beside me, Claire was on her knees, smiling through her bruises.
"Miller!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "He’s in here! Room three! Shoot him!"
The wooden door swung open with a violent kick.
Captain Robert Miller stepped through the threshold, his department-issued Glock 22 raised in a two-handed grip.
He wore an LAPD tactical vest over a rumpled gray suit.
His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw stubbled and graying.
Behind him stood two uniformed officers with shotguns.
When Miller saw Claire handcuffed on the floor, his eyes narrowed into slits.
"Drop the weapon, Mercer," Miller ordered, taking a step inside.
"Drop it right now, or my men will open fire."
"You know what this is, Miller?" I asked, holding up the olive-green steel box.
Miller’s gaze flicked to the box.
A tiny twitch appeared at the corner of his left eye.
He recognized it.
"Put the box down, Mercer," Miller said, his voice lowering into a dangerous rumble.
"That’s evidence in a capital homicide investigation."
"This isn't evidence of Sofia’s death," I said, stepping forward until the barrel of his gun was three feet from my chest.
"This is the ledger."
"Sofia documented every wire transfer Evelyn Vance made to your offshore account in the Cayman Islands between 2018 and 2021."
"A total of two point four million dollars."
The two uniformed officers behind Miller exchanged quick, uneasy glances.
"Captain...?" one of the officers muttered, lowering the barrel of his shotgun slightly.
"Quiet, Peterson!" Miller barked without turning his head.
"Mercer is an unhinged suspect spinning fairy tales to save his own skin."
"He’s not spinning fairy tales, Captain," a new voice rang out from the hallway behind them.
Everyone froze.
A tall woman in a charcoal tailored suit walked into the bedroom.
Her badge was pinned to her lapel: United States Department of Justice.
Behind her stood four heavily armed Federal Marshals, their assault rifles raised and pointed directly at Miller’s back.
Katherine Ross had arrived.
"Captain Robert Miller," Katherine announced, her voice cutting through the tension like a razor.
"Step away from Mr. Mercer and place your sidearm on the floor."
Miller didn't move.
Sweat broke out across his forehead, glistening under the bedroom chandelier.
"This is LAPD jurisdiction, Ross," Miller snarled, his gun hand trembling.
"You have no authority here."
"As of twelve minutes ago, the FBI took exclusive jurisdiction over this entire investigation under federal RICO statutes," Katherine replied coldly.
"We have Evelyn Vance in federal custody at LAX. She was trying to board a private jet to Zurich."
Claire let out a strangled gasp from the carpet.
The final domino had fallen.
"Drop the gun, Miller," Katherine repeated, her marshals taking half a step forward, their laser sights painting Miller’s tactical vest with green dots.
"You’re done."
Miller stared at me for three agonizing seconds.
His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts.
Then, with a bitter curse, he let his Glock slip from his fingers.
It landed with a dull thud on Lily’s soft rug.
The marshals moved in instantly, kicking the weapon aside and forcing Miller to his knees.
"Alex Mercer," Katherine said, looking at me with gentle, steady eyes.
"Give me the box."
I handed Sofia’s green lockbox to the federal prosecutor.
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"Make sure they never see the light of day, Katherine," I whispered.
"I give you my word," she said softly.
