Chapter 9 - The Poison In The Blue Pill Bottle
The boardroom descended into chaos.
Board members scrambled away from the table.
Two directors huddled in the corner.
Arthur Campbell, the oldest board member, raised his hands.
“Tobias, put the weapon down!” Arthur pleaded.
“Look at the screen, Arthur,” I interrupted.
I stepped to the head of the conference room.
I plugged Dad’s flash drive into the main projector console.
The massive wall display flickered to life.
A spreadsheet appeared.
It detailed twenty-two off-the-books bank transfers spanning twelve years.
Every dollar traced from Mercer payroll accounts into a holding firm in Grand
Cayman:
Sterling Marine Holdings.
Beside each transfer sat Garrett Vance’s digital signature.
Underneath the financial ledgers was an audio player.
I clicked the mouse.
Garrett’s recorded voice echoed through the high-end speakers:
“The thallium works slowly. She just thinks she’s tired. By the time the
quarterly audit hits, her liver will be mush. Make sure Penelope’s papers are
ready.”
A collective gasp swept through the room.
Arthur Campbell stared at Garrett with disgust.
“You poisoned Rosalind?” Arthur whispered.
“You tried to murder our founder’s daughter?”
Garrett backed against the floor-to-ceiling glass window.
He looked down at the street forty floors below.
Police sirens were wailing.
The news vans were broadcasting live footage of our arrival.
“It wasn't me!” Garrett shrieked.
His voice had lost all its composure.
Spittle flew from his lips.
“I was forced into this!”
“Julian Sterling owns my father’s debts!”
“He was going to kill me if I didn't get the trust signatures today!”
“Julian Sterling is dead!” Arthur yelled back.
“He’s alive!” Garrett shouted.
“He’s at Warehouse Nine right now!”
“He has Penelope!”
“He took her to the facility!”
“He’s going to terminate the pregnancy and harvest the Mercer biological
material!”
“He doesn't need me anymore!”
“He has the original trust covenants from forty years ago!”
My blood turned to ice.
“What covenants?” I demanded, stepping toward him.
Garrett pulled a crumpled fax from his inner coat pocket.
He threw it onto the table.
“Your grandfather signed an emergency reversion clause in 1984,” Garrett babbed.
“If the Mercer heirs are declared legally incapacitated or missing for more than
twelve hours, the entire deep-water port authority reverts to the senior
surviving partner.”
“Julian is the senior partner!”
“He doesn't need to kill you now!”
“He just needs to hold you until noon!”
I checked the brass clock on the boardroom wall.
It was ten-fifteen.
We had one hour and forty-five minutes.
Tobias lowered his weapon slightly.
“Where is Penelope being held?” Tobias asked.
“In the sub-level dry dock,” Garrett stammered.
“Under Warehouse Nine.”
“Julian has an entire private security detail down there.”
“Former mercenaries.”
“You two will never get past the gates.”
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the boardroom swung open again.
Detective Marcus Vance stepped into the room.
He had broken through his plastic restraints.
His wrists were bloody and raw.
His trench coat was torn.
He had his service Glock drawn.
“Nobody move!” Marcus shouted.
His gun pointed directly at Tobias’s head.
“Marcus!” Garrett cried out with relief.
“Shoot him! Shoot both of them!”
Marcus didn't shoot.
His eyes darted from Garrett to Tobias, then to the massive financial ledgers
glowing on the wall.
He saw his own name listed on line forty-two:
PAYMENT TO DETECTIVE M. VANCE – $250,000 – HARBOR ACCIDENT CLOSURE.
Marcus’s gun hand began to tremble.
“It’s over, Marcus,” I said quietly.
I walked toward the detective.
I didn't flinch.
“The whole city knows.”
“The press is downstairs.”
“The state attorney general is already reviewing the data on that drive.”
“If you pull that trigger, you spend the rest of your life in solitary
confinement.”
“Or worse,” Tobias added from behind me.
“Julian Sterling will tie you to a concrete block and drop you where he dropped
our SUV.”
Marcus looked at the screen.
He looked at his cousin Garrett.
“You put my name in the digital books?” Marcus rasped at Garrett.
“You kept records of the payoffs?”
“I had to protect myself!” Garrett screamed.
Marcus lowered his weapon.
A look of complete defeat washed over his face.
He took his gold detective badge from his pocket.
He threw it onto the oak conference table.
It landed with a dull, hollow thud.
“I’m done,” Marcus whispered.
“Marcus, you idiot!” Garrett lunged forward.
Garrett snatched the pistol from Marcus’s holster before anyone could react.
Garrett cocked the hammer.
His eyes were completely feral.
“If I’m going down, Rosalind,” Garrett hissed.
“You’re coming with me.”
He pointed the gun at my face from six feet away.
May you like
Tobias leaped across the mahogany table.
A gunshot deafened the room.
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