Chapter 6 - The Red Dot
Julian’s eyes flickered upward for a fraction of a second. High in the structural steel rafters of the Penthouse Vista Suite, two infrared laser targeting dots materialized against the black ceiling beams, tracking downward with surgical speed until both scarlet beams converged directly over Julian Vance’s heart.
The suite doors swung open with a concussive bang. A tactical strike team from the Boston Police Department, flanked by federal agents wearing dark blue windbreakers with yellow lettering, flooded the room with assault rifles raised.
""Drop the weapon! Federal agents! On the ground! Drop it now!""
The metallic snap of safety catches disengaging filled the cavernous room. Julian froze. The gun in his hand seemed suddenly impossibly heavy. He looked at the red dots on his chest, looked at Marcus’s unyielding stare, and finally looked at me.
""Drop it, Julian,"" I whispered. ""Before they scrape you off my imported carpet.""
Julian's fingers loosened. The snub-nosed revolver slipped from his grip, clattering loudly against the hardwood floor before Marcus kicked it cleanly across the room into the custody of an advancing federal officer. Two agents tackled Julian to the floor, driving their knees into his spine as zip-ties ratcheted tightly around his wrists.
""Julian Vance,"" an agent announced loudly, reading from a laminated card. ""You are under arrest for federal wire fraud, interstate racketeering, maritime identity fraud, and attempted extortion. You have the right to remain silent.""
Julian groaned against the floorboards, his face pressed against the spilled wine. ""Blair... please... you loved me once! You gave me everything!""
""I loved a memory,"" I replied, turning my back on him. ""You’re just a thief with a forged passport.""
As they dragged Julian toward the private service elevators, the agents turned their attention to Preston, who had slumped into a fetal position under the serving station, weeping uncontrollably.
""Preston Miller,"" the lead agent said, hauling the young man up by his collar. ""You're coming with us for unauthorized intrusion into a federally secured commercial facility and grand larceny of proprietary corporate data.""
""Harper told me to do it!"" Preston sobbed, pointing his trembling, handcuffed fingers at my sister. ""She said her sister was a doormat who would never check the corporate archives! She swore we would get fifty million dollars and flee to Zurich!""
""You coward!"" Harper shrieked, lunging at him with her nails bared, but an officer grabbed her shoulders, restraining her immediately. ""Don't touch me! Mother, do something! Call our lawyers! Call Uncle Thomas!""
Eleanor remained frozen on her knees, staring blankly at the eviction notice in her hands. ""There are no lawyers, Harper,"" she whispered, her voice hollow, cracked, and completely devoid of pride. ""The retainer checks bounced last Tuesday. Uncle Thomas blocked my number three weeks ago.""
The officers hauled Preston out the door, his pathetic cries echoing down the elevator shaft until the pneumatic doors slid shut with a dull hydraulic hiss.
The room grew eerily quiet again. The only sound left was my father’s ragged breathing.
Richard finally lifted his head. The proud patriarch who had once commanded rooms with a flick of his cigar looked like a broken old vagrant, his eyes clouded with shame and decades of untreated alcoholism.
""Blair,"" Richard rasped, his voice trembling so hard his teeth clicked together. ""What are you going to do to us?""
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I walked slowly back to the head of the table, picking up my crystal glass of sparkling water, taking a single, slow sip, and looking at the three people who had cast me out into the winter rain ten years ago.
""I’m going to give you exactly what you gave me,"" I said.
