Chapter 67 - The Convergence
The sudden, deafening crack of a high-powered rifle shot shattered the heavy bay window at the front of the house.
Shards of double-paned glass exploded inward, raining down across the hardwood floor like hail. A cold, violent gust of wind roared into the room, sending the Zurich documents swirling into the air like white confetti.
"Down!" I roared, grabbing Beatrice by the collar of her coat and dragging her behind the massive stone hearth.
Arthur didn't move fast enough. A second shot tore through the cedar wall, the heavy caliber round punching through the back of the sofa, showering Arthur in white batting and splinters. He screamed, rolling onto the floor, clutching his right shoulder where blood was already spreading across his gray cashmere coat.
Outside, the rumbling idle of the Suburbans had vanished, replaced by the sharp, tactical pop of suppressed weapons fire.
"Arthur’s guards," I hissed, pulling my Glock from my pocket and checking the sightline toward the shattered window. "Who is shooting at them?"
"Not my men," Arthur groaned from the floor, his face gray with agony as he pressed his hand against the bleeding hole in his shoulder. "My men... my men only had handguns..."
Through the jagged opening of the window, I caught a glimpse of the driveway through the swirling snow.
The lead Suburban was engulfed in flames, black smoke billowing upward into the blizzard. Two figures in gray tactical uniforms were moving methodically around the burning wreckage, firing short, controlled bursts into the snowbanks. Near the stone pillars of the gate, Briggs—Arthur’s lead guard—lay motionless in the snow, his weapon lying six feet from his outstretched hand.
Then, out of the white squall, a familiar figure stepped into the light of the burning vehicle.
Marcus.
He wasn't wearing his civilian trench coat anymore. He was clad in full tactical gear, a suppressed submachine gun hanging across his chest from a single-point sling. Beside him walked three men with high-end thermal scopes and European tactical insignias.
Marcus raised his hand, signaling his team to hold their positions around the burning trucks. He turned his face toward the shattered bay window, raised two fingers to his earpiece, and spoke calmly into his microphone.
A second later, the satellite transponder sitting on my desk began to chirp.
I reached out, staying low behind the hearth, and tapped the speaker button.
"Julian," Marcus’s voice came through the small speaker, perfectly clear, completely undisturbed by the gunfire outside. "The perimeter is secure. Arthur’s domestic contractors have been neutralized."
"Marcus," I snarled into the transponder. "You shot through my living room window."
"That was a sniper from the St. Jude group positioned in the tree line three hundred yards north," Marcus replied calmly. "He had a crosshair on the back of your head through the glass. My man on the bluff eliminated him. You're welcome."
"What do you want, Marcus?"
"I don't want anything, Julian. I am an employee of the master trust. Victoria has landed at Austin Straubel International Airport in Green Bay. Her convoy will arrive at your residence in twelve minutes."
"Tell her to turn around," I said, my teeth clenched so tight my jaw ached. "I have Arthur’s private ledger. I know about Clause 84-B. I know about the severance trigger."
There was a brief pause on the line. When Marcus spoke again, his voice had lost its dry, detached edge.
"Julian... if you have the black ledger, you need to read the addendum on page seventy-four."
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"Why?"
"Because Victoria didn't land in Green Bay to congratulate you," Marcus said, his tone chillingly flat. "She landed to execute Clause 84-D."
