Chapter 8 - Checkmate in the PenthouseI looked at Julian standing across the marble floor, completely unaware of the trap he had just walked into.
When I coded the override for the hotel's mainframe earlier that evening, I hadn't just routed the video stream to the lobby screens. I had also routed the penthouse audio feed directly to the federal marshal tactical command unit parked in the subterranean garage, along with a live dispatch to the NYPD Counter-Terrorism Bureau.
A digital timer on my hidden phone screen flashed silently: 10 seconds until tactical breach.
"You talk a lot about control, Julian," I said, my voice dangerously calm as I slowly walked backward toward the reinforced steel-frame pillars near the bar.
Julian chuckled, setting his glass down on the granite counter. "Control is the only currency that matters in this city, Charlotte. And right now, you have zero."
"Five," I whispered under my breath.
Julian frowned, his brow furrowing as he noticed my lack of fear. "What did you say?"
"Four."
"You're bluffing. You're just a frightened little girl playing dress-up with raw hands—"
"Three."
Suddenly, the heavy steel security shutters over the penthouse elevators blew inward with a deafening explosion of smoke and concussive sound.
BOOM!
"FBI! Federal Marshals! Nobody move!"
Dozens of tactical operatives in full body armor swarmed through the smoke grenade haze, descending from rappelling ropes attached to the rooftop helipad, while others flooded out of the private elevator shaft. Automatic weapons with laser sights locked onto Julian from every conceivable angle.
Julian’s face went completely slack, the arrogant color draining from his cheeks in a fraction of a second. He spun around, reaching instinctively for the concealed shoulder holster beneath his tuxedo jacket—
"Don't do it," I snapped, drawing my Sig Sauer and leveling it squarely at his chest with a steady, unblinking hand. "My hands might be scraped raw, Julian... but my aim is just fine."
Three tactical officers slammed into Julian from behind, tackling him violently onto the white marble floor, smashing his face against the stone and pinning his arms behind his back with industrial zip-ties.
"Julian Vance, you are under federal arrest for racketeering, conspiracy, and the premeditated murder of Beatrice Vale," the lead tactical commander shouted over the commotion, dragging Julian to his feet.
As they hauled him past me toward the elevator, Julian lifted his head, his amber eyes burning with pure, unadulterated venom. "This isn't over, Charlotte! The Vanguard has a thousand heads! You can't kill us all!"
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"Try me," I replied coldly, lowering my weapon.
The elevator doors closed, taking the last of the conspirators down into the abyss.
