Chapter 4 - Whispers in the Powder Room
“Get up,” Fiona said, her voice silky, completely devoid of the polite charm she had worn upstairs.
I didn't stand up immediately. I took three deep breaths, regulating my pulse. In the trauma bay, panic was a death sentence. The moment your heart rate spiked, your fine motor skills vanished.
“You’re shaking, Fiona,” I said, resting my hands against the concrete floor to push myself up slowly. “Guns aren't as easy to use as shell companies, are they?”
“I don't need to be an expert marksman at four feet,” she replied, keeping the weapon pointed squarely at my chest. “You shouldn't have come down here. You were supposed to be upstairs, playing the dutiful, broken-hearted wife while Matthias signed his life away.”
“Matthias doesn't know about the gas line, does he?” I asked, standing fully upright and leaning against the stone pillar. “He thinks this is just insider trading. He thinks you’re helping him push his father out of the chairman seat.”
Fiona let out a soft, mocking laugh.
“Matthias is a vain, insecure idiot who desperately wanted to prove he was smarter than Arthur. All it took was a few weekends in New Haven and a diamond necklace to make him hand over the digital master keys to every account the Dre family owns.”
“And you were going to blow up the house to destroy the physical audit trails in Arthur’s safe.”
“Arthur keeps paper ledgers,” Fiona admitted, tilting the gun slightly. “Old-fashioned billionaires always do. The fire would have consumed the records, Arthur would be dead, Matthias would be arrested for criminal negligence and corporate manslaughter, and my clients would buy the entire conglomerate out of bankruptcy for twelve cents on the dollar.”
“And me?” I asked. “My baby?”
Fiona’s gaze dropped to my stomach without a shred of remorse.
“Collateral losses within acceptable parameters.”
Hearing her say those exact words sent a wave of icy fury through my veins.
“You made one critical mistake, Fiona.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“You assumed I came down here alone.”
Behind Fiona, from the shadows of the old wine racks, a red laser dot appeared on the center of her back.
“Special Agent Marcus Vance, federal law enforcement,” a booming voice echoed through the stone cellar. “Drop the weapon, Fiona. Now.”
Fiona froze.
Her eyes darted sideways.
“Drop it!” Marcus barked, stepping into the dim light with his service weapon drawn and fully aimed.
Fiona’s jaw clenched. She realized she had walked into a cul-de-sac. With a bitter curse, she opened her fingers.
The small silver pistol hit the concrete with a sharp metallic clatter.
Marcus moved forward instantly, kicking the weapon behind him and pinning Fiona against the cellar wall, wrenching her arms behind her back. The sound of ratcheting handcuffs echoed off the damp limestone.
“Fiona Vale, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit corporate fraud, attempted murder, and domestic terrorism,” Marcus recited smoothly.
May you like
“You don't have the codes,” Fiona hissed, struggling against the cuffs. “The timer is already running!”
“The gas valve is manually closed,” I said, walking past her toward the stairs. “You’re the only thing getting burned tonight.”
