Chapter 5 - THE TRAP
I held Thomas Reed’s ledger in my hands. The leather was worn, stained with faint water marks and the passage of time. Opening the cover, I saw neat, meticulous columns of numbers—and beside them, initials written in a sharp, distinct hand: M.V.
Marcus Vance.
For ten years, I had hunted the ghosts of the men who betrayed my family, never realizing the architect of our ruin had been standing at my right hand, wearing a tailored suit and whispering counsel into my ear.
“He’s been setting you up for months,” Clara said, her voice trembling as she watched me process the evidence. “The recent security leaks, the missing shipments... he’s been routing them to Vanguard to make it look like an internal mutiny. Once your empire fractures, he steps in and takes over.”
Mother clutched the arms of her wheelchair, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. “Bennett... go. But do not trust him. Take the back stairs to the armory.”
I slid the ledger into my inner jacket pocket, feeling the cold weight of the metal pistol resting against my ribs. The grief and anger I had carried for years suddenly coalesced into a terrifying, laser-focused calm.
“Lock this door,” I told Clara, my voice devoid of warmth. “Do not open it for anyone except me or Mother. Understand?”
Clara nodded, her eyes wide with fear for my safety—a realization that hit me strangely. She had started this night wanting to see me destroyed. Now, she was terrified I wouldn't survive the hour.
I slipped out of the office and bypassed the main elevators, taking the narrow, stone-walled service stairs down to the reinforced basement holding rooms. The air down here was always cold, smelling of damp concrete and old iron.
As I approached the holding room, I saw Marcus standing outside the heavy steel door. He was casually checking his watch, his posture relaxed, a faint, unreadable smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
When he heard my footsteps echoing off the concrete, he looked up smoothly.
“Boss,” Marcus greeted, stepping forward. “Good. The Vanguard rep is getting restless inside. He claims he has the physical hard drives in his briefcase.”
I stopped a few feet away from him, my hand resting casually near my coat pocket. “Did you search him, Marcus?”
“Thoroughly,” Marcus replied without a flinch. “Standard protocol.”
“Good work,” I said, holding his gaze. For a decade, I had trusted those eyes. I had bled with those eyes. “You know, Marcus, looking back at the old docks fire... it’s amazing how much we missed. We executed a lot of innocent people trying to find the rat.”
Marcus’s smile didn’t drop, but his eyes—those calculating, cold eyes—narrowed just a fraction of a millimeter. “We did what we had to do to protect the family, Boss.”
“Did we?” I asked softly. I pulled Thomas Reed’s leather ledger out of my coat and tossed it onto the metal inspection table between us.
It landed with a dull thud.
Marcus glanced down at the book. The color drained from his face so fast it looked like someone had turned off a light switch.
“Where did you get that?” Marcus’s voice lost its polished edge, turning sharp and jagged.
“An old friend,” I replied, taking a slow step forward. “Or rather, the daughter of an old friend you framed and murdered ten years ago.”
Marcus didn’t deny it. Instead, his hand flashed toward his shoulder holster with terrifying speed.
May you like
He was fast. But syndicate training is absolute.
Before his fingers could wrap around the grip of his weapon, my hand cleared my coat. Two deafening gunshots echoed off the concrete walls, shaking the dust from the ceiling pipes.
