Chapter 8 - The Turn of the Tide
The command hung in the air for less than a second—long enough for combat training to override every other instinct in Daniel and Elena’s bodies.
Before the first state trooper could even squeeze his trigger, Elena drew her sidearm with blinding speed, firing two rounds into the crystal chandelier directly above the foyer. The massive iron and glass fixture shattered with a deafening roar, plunging the grand entrance hall into a cascading shower of razor-sharp crystal shards and plunging strobe lights.
At the same time, Daniel dropped flat to the marble floor of the landing, kicking his leg out and striking the heavy decorative brass urn resting at the top of the stairs. The massive urn tipped over, crashing down the grand staircase like a rolling boulder, smashing directly into the cluster of state troopers and sending them scattering in panic.
“Federal task force! Drop your weapons or you’ll be meeting a military tribunal!” Elena shouted over the din, leaning over the banister with her weapon trained squarely on Captain Vance.
Vance stumbled backward, slipping on a piece of shattered crystal, his gun flying out of his hand and clattering across the polished marble floor. Two of Elena’s tactical operatives, having heard the commotion from the rear service corridors, swarmed into the foyer from the side doors, their rifles raised, instantly pinning Vance and the remaining troopers against the wall with cable ties.
“Secure the corrupt captain,” Elena ordered, sliding her pistol back into its holster with practiced calm. “Confiscate all communication devices. Anyone who moves gets detained for aiding and abetting a felony homicide investigation.”
Down in the foyer, Vance thrashed wildly as plastic zip-ties were locked tightly around his wrists. “You can’t do this! You don't know who you’re dealing with! The Sterlings own this entire city!”
“They used to own this city,” Daniel said, walking slowly down the grand staircase, his boots crunching on the fallen crystal. He stopped right in front of the sputtering, humiliated state police captain, looking down at him with absolute contempt. “Now, they’re just defendants.”
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Behind them, the front doors swung open again, revealing the arrival of the federal forensics convoy from Hanscom Air Force Base—three heavy vans bearing federal insignia, disgorged a dozen technicians in full biohazard and forensic gear carrying specialized evidence cases.
The siege of the Sterling estate was officially over. The excavation of their sins was just beginning.
