Chapter 9 - The Reckoning of Grant Mercer
The storm was beginning to break over Lake Michigan as Roman’s twin-engine armored cruiser cut through the churning black waves toward the private medical dock at Northwestern Hospital. Inside the enclosed cabin, Evelyn lay on an emergency gurney, her hand locked in a vice-like grip around Roman’s bloodstained fingers.
Dr. Chen and two trauma nurses, who had been on Roman Calder’s private retainer for a decade, were already working furiously to stabilize her contractions and monitor the fetal heartbeat.
“Heart rate is strong, Roman,” Dr. Chen said, wiping sweat from his brow. “One hundred and forty beats per minute. But the placenta is under high stress from the shockwave. We deliver the moment we hit the surgical bay.”
Roman leaned down, pressing his forehead against Evelyn’s temple. “You hear that, sweetheart? He’s fighting. He’s as stubborn as his mother.”
Evelyn managed a weak, exhausted smile through the pain. “And who is dealing with Grant?”
Roman’s eyes darkened for a split second, but he kept his voice completely calm. “Grant is answering for Noah right now.”
At that very moment, three miles south at the rusted industrial silo on 31st Street, Marcus Vance walked into the basement room where Vladimir Rostov and Grant Mercer were bound to iron chairs facing each other.
Rostov, a bloated, ruthless cartel patriarch with gold teeth and dead eyes, spat at Vance’s feet. “Roman Calder is dead by now. My men had the house surrounded.”
Vance didn't smile. He merely set a portable tablet computer on an iron barrel between them and pressed play.
The screen flickered to a live feed of the Calder estate. Anton Rostov’s body was being loaded into a black private van. The assault team was entirely in Calder custody.
Vladimir Rostov’s face turned an ashen shade of grey.
“Roman Calder sent you a message,” Vance said quietly, stepping behind Grant Mercer.
Grant began to hyperventilate. “Marcus, please! Tell Roman I’ll leave the country! I’ll sign over every deed, every bank account, every port share!”
Vance pulled Roman’s handwritten note from his pocket and read it aloud:
May you like
“You told my wife that jewelry could be replaced, Grant. But you forgot the four words carved inside her band. Come home to me. You made sure my brother never came home. So you will never leave this room.”
Vance turned off the tablet, signaled the two Calder operatives stationed at the door, and walked out into the cool morning air, letting the heavy steel doors seal shut behind him forever.
