Chapter 8 - The Fall of the Empire
The impact knocked the air from Marcus's lungs, sending a sharp, stabbing pain through his ribcage. His rifle was lost somewhere in the dark interior of the lower floor.
Harrison groaned beside him, his shoulder bleeding heavily, but he was still breathing. He scrambled backward, pulling a combat knife from his tactical vest, his eyes wild with desperation.
"You can't stop it, Hale!" Harrison screamed, staggering to his feet. "The server was hardwired! Destruction of the terminal doesn't halt the transfer protocol! The money is gone! Your family's name is burned!"
Marcus slowly pushed himself up from the ground, ignoring the tearing pain in his side. He wiped a mixture of rain and blood from his forehead.
"I don't give a damn about the money," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm register. "And my father's name was already ruined thirty years ago."
Harrison lunged forward, swinging the heavy combat knife in a lethal arc aimed at Marcus's neck. Marcus parried the blow with his forearm, trapping Harrison's wrist, and drove a vicious palm-strike directly into Harrison's nose. Bone shattered with a loud crunch.
Harrison stumbled back, but swung again frantically. Marcus ducked beneath the blade, stepped inside Harrison's guard, seized his arm, and executed a flawless hip-throw. Harrison slammed heavily onto the solid concrete floor, the knife flying from his grip and clattering down an open drainage grate.
Marcus pinned the doctor down, placing his heavy knee directly on Harrison's fractured collarbone. Harrison shrieked in agony.
"The server," Marcus growled, pulling his phone from his pocket. "How do you abort the offshore transfer?"
"You... you can't..." Harrison gasped, choking on his own blood. "It requires a biometrical override from the master hub..."
"Which is on your phone," Marcus said, reaching into Harrison's tactical vest and pulling out a encrypted military-grade smartphone.
He held the device up to Harrison's face, forcing the facial recognition system to unlock the screen. An administrative app was flashing red on the display: TRANSFER IN PROGRESS - 88% COMPLETE.
Marcus didn't try to cancel the transfer to his father's account. He knew that money was toxic, cursed, and surrounded by death. Instead, he tapped the target routing section, deleted the offshore bank routing number, and entered a new twelve-digit destination code he had memorized during his three tours downrange.
It was the official banking routing number for the Department of Veterans Affairs Special Victims & Trauma Recovery Fund.
He hit CONFIRM OVERRIDE.
The screen flashed bright green: TRANSFER COMPLETE. $4,210,500.00 TRANSFERRED SUCCESSFULLY. RECEIPT GENERATED.
Harrison stared at the screen, his face draining of all color. "What... what did you just do?" he stammered. "That’s... that’s federal money now! It’s audited by the Treasury Department! It’s untouchable!"
"It’s paid back," Marcus said coldly, stepping off the broken man. "With thirty years of interest."
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Outside, the heavy sound of approaching rotor blades beat through the night air. Powerful spotlights cut through the rain-streaked windows of the mill, illuminating the dust particles floating in the air.
Federal agents, backed by State Police tactical units, began breaching the outer perimeter gates.
