Chapter 11 - The Serpent's Desperate Strike
The private pier at Terminal 9 jutted out into the dark, icy waters of the Atlantic harbor. The winter storm had intensified, throwing freezing sea spray over the concrete barriers while the wind screamed like a banshee through the shipping cranes.
Grant sat bound to a heavy wooden chair at the edge of the pier, his wrist crudely bandaged, shivering violently from both the freezing cold and sheer terror.
Matteo and four Caruso guards stood nearby, keeping watch under the yellow glare of the industrial work lights.
Roman stood at the edge of the pier, staring out at the dark waters where his brother's ship had once docked. I walked up beside him, pulling my heavy coat tight against the wind. Roman immediately reached out, wrapping his arm around my shoulders to shield me from the biting gale.
"Are you sure you want to be here for this, Evelyn?" Roman asked, his voice filled with protective tenderness. "You don't have to watch."
"I spent ten years watching him destroy everything I loved from the shadows," I replied, meeting his gaze. "I need to see him answer for it with my own eyes."
Roman nodded with deep respect. He turned toward Grant and signaled to Matteo.
Matteo stepped forward, pulling a heavy duffel bag from the back of an SUV and unzipping it at Grant's feet. Inside lay fifty thick binders containing forensic financial audits, sworn testimonies from port officials, and high-definition surveillance footage of Grant planning the Brooklyn bombing.
"What is that?" Grant croaked, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.
"This is the complete legal portfolio of your crimes, Grant," Roman said coldly. "At eight o'clock tomorrow morning, two copies of this file are being delivered: one to the United States Attorney General, and one to the Special Narcotics and Terrorism Task Force."
Grant blinked in confusion, his bloodshot eyes darting between Roman and me. "You... you're not going to kill me?"
Roman walked over, leaning down until his lethal, aristocratic face was inches from Grant's shivering nose.
"Death is an escape, Grant. A bullet takes half a second. Michael died in an instant. If I put a bullet in your head tonight, you would never truly understand the magnitude of your failure."
Roman straightened his posture, looking down on the ruined heir.
"Tomorrow, every asset you possess will be seized by the federal government and transferred to Evelyn as restitution for decade-long domestic abuse and corporate fraud. You will be stripped of your name, your money, and your status. You will be convicted of federal treason, multiple counts of first-degree murder, and syndicate racketeering."
Roman turned to Matteo.
"He will be transferred to ADX Florence—the federal supermax facility in Colorado. He will spend twenty-three hours a day in an eight-by-ten concrete soundproof cell, completely alone, with no human contact, no windows, and no hope of parole for the rest of his miserable natural life."
"No!" Grant screamed, thrashing against his ropes, realizing the true horror of his fate. "Kill me, Roman! Just shoot me! Don't put me in a cage! Evelyn, please! I'm your brother! Tell him to shoot me!"
I walked up to Grant, stopping just inches from his bound chair. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the silver Mercer family signet ring that had been confiscated from his pocket—the very ring he had used to brand my shoulder—and held it before his eyes.
May you like
"You aren't my brother, Grant," I said softly. "You're just a ghost from a nightmare I finally woke up from."
With a flick of my wrist, I tossed the heavy silver ring into the churning, pitch-black waters of the Atlantic Ocean, watching it vanish forever beneath the waves.
