Chapter 6 - The Poisoned Pen
Richard didn't flinch, but the muscle twitching along his sharp jawline betrayed the absolute fury boiling under his composed exterior.
"Father was suffering, Mark," Richard said, his tone dropping into a chillingly reasonable cadence.
"He had metastatic cancer. He had weeks left. Why prolong the inevitable when the bank loans were coming due?"
"You murdered him," I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
"I saved the empire!" Richard shouted, his calm facade finally shattering into raw, unhinged narcissism.
"If the creditors had called the notes before the probate was filed, everything our grandfather built would have been auctioned off on the courthouse steps!"
"You killed our father for stock options!" I roared, raising my weapon to center mass.
The guard on the catwalk instantly raised his rifle, the red laser dot appearing directly over my heart.
"Don't do it, Mark," Richard warned, stepping back into the shadow of a heavy support pillar.
"Drop the gun, hand over the courier bag, and I'll let you and Lauren walk away with five million dollars in an offshore account."
"You can live your quiet little life in Europe, completely insulated from the collapse."
"And if we refuse?" Lauren asked, standing beside me, her chin raised with unyielding courage.
"If you refuse, the boathouse catches fire tonight," Richard said coldly.
"An unfortunate electrical accident while two grieving family members were sorting through old childhood relics."
"The local sheriff is on my payroll. The coroner will sign whatever I tell him to sign."
I looked at my brother, the boy I had played baseball with on this very lake thirty years ago.
There was nothing left of the family we had once been, only an empty shell driven by greed and unchecked ambition.
"You forgot one thing, Richard," I said quietly, keeping my eyes locked on his.
"I never forget anything, Mark," he sneered.
"You forgot that I run logistics, not finance," I replied, a cold smile touching my face for the first time that night.
"And in modern logistics, every single secure courier bag is tracked with dual-redundant satellite transponders."
May you like
Richard’s eyes flicked to the leather bag in my left hand, then down to the small blinking green diode beneath the brass buckle.
"You didn't lead us here, Richard," I said smoothly. "We brought you here."
