Chapter 8 - THE SHATTERED GLASS
I crept down the metal stairs, the wrench heavy and cold in my sweating hands.
The warehouse floor was a chaotic maze of shadows and sweeping flashlight beams.
“He’s by the shipping crates!” one of the guards yelled.
Gunfire erupted near the back wall.
Jack was drawing them away from the center.
I reached the ground floor and ducked behind a stack of wooden pallets.
Through the gaps in the wood, I could see my mother and Marcus.
They were still tied to the chairs.
Arthur was standing right beside them.
His elegant composure was completely gone. He looked terrified. He was holding a gun to my mother’s head, his hand shaking violently.
“Jack!” Arthur screamed into the darkness. “Show yourself, or she dies right now!”
The gunfire at the back of the warehouse abruptly stopped.
Silence fell over the room, heavy and suffocating.
“I’m right here, Arthur.”
Jack’s voice came from the shadows to Arthur’s left.
A flashlight beam swung frantically, catching Jack.
He stepped out into the open, his hands raised, his gun left behind in the dark.
“Let them go,” Jack said calmly. “You have me.”
Arthur laughed, a high, desperate sound.
“You ruined me! The FBI is probably on their way right now!”
“They are,” Jack agreed. “Which means you have about five minutes to get on your private jet and leave the country. If you shoot them, you waste time you don’t have.”
Arthur sneered, tightening his grip on the gun.
“I have time for one bullet.”
He aimed the gun directly at Jack’s chest.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t analyze the risk.
I stepped out from behind the pallets, directly behind Arthur.
I swung the heavy steel wrench with every ounce of strength I had in my body.
The metal struck Arthur squarely in the back of his knee.
A loud CRACK echoed through the warehouse.
Arthur screamed in agony, his leg buckling instantly.
He collapsed to the concrete, his gun firing wildly into the air.
Jack moved with terrifying speed.
He closed the distance, kicking the gun out of Arthur’s hand.
Before Arthur could react, Jack grabbed him by the lapels of his expensive suit and slammed him against the concrete floor, knocking him out cold.
I dropped the wrench, my hands shaking uncontrollably.
“Mom!” I cried, falling to my knees beside her chair.
I ripped the duct tape from her wrists.
She threw her arms around me, sobbing hysterically into my shoulder.
“Emily, oh my god, Emily.”
“I’ve got you,” I wept, holding her tight. “You’re safe.”
Jack pulled a knife from his boot and cut Marcus loose.
Marcus stood up, wincing, and pulled Jack into a fierce hug.
“You’re late,” Marcus groaned.
“Traffic,” Jack smiled weakly.
Suddenly, the warehouse doors were bathed in flashing red and blue lights.
The deafening wail of police sirens pierced the night air.
The FBI had arrived.
Dozens of armed agents flooded the warehouse, shouting orders, their flashlights cutting through the fog.
“Drop your weapons! Hands in the air!”
Jack slowly raised his hands.
An FBI agent marched forward, slapping handcuffs onto Jack’s wrists.
“Jack Whitmore, you are under arrest,” the agent read.
“No!” I screamed, pulling away from my mother and running toward him.
Another agent caught me around the waist, holding me back.
“Let him go!” I fought against the agent’s grip. “He gave you the ledger! He’s the one who exposed Arthur!”
Jack looked at me over his shoulder as they led him away.
He didn’t look angry.
He looked completely at peace.
“It’s okay, Emily,” Jack smiled softly.
“It’s not okay!” I sobbed. “You didn’t do this!”
“I am the head of the family,” Jack said, his voice carrying over the chaos. “I have to answer for it.”
They pushed him toward the back of an armored police transport.
Before the doors closed, Jack looked directly into my eyes.
“Check the pocket of my coat.”
The doors slammed shut.
I stood shivering in the damp warehouse, Jack’s oversized suit jacket still wrapped tightly around my shoulders.
I reached into the pocket.
I pulled out the envelope with the boarding passes to Switzerland.
But that wasn’t what Jack wanted me to find.
Tucked behind the tickets was a heavy, folded legal document.
It was a transfer of ownership.
Signed by Jack Whitmore.
Dated yesterday.
May you like
Transferring fifty-one percent of Northbridge Consumer Group voting shares.
To Emily Carter.
