Chapter 7 - The Father's Wrath
Marcus didn't yell. He didn't curse. He simply took three slow, deliberate steps forward, his combat boots clicking heavily against the stone patio.
Courtney shrieked, shoving little Leo forward so hard the boy stumbled. "Take him! Take the brat! Just don't hurt me!"
Before Leo could hit the ground, a pair of strong, calloused hands caught him gently by the shoulders. Marcus knelt down, pulling his six-year-old son into his chest with a gentleness that contrasted terrifyingly with the lethal aura surrounding him.
"Hey, buddy," Marcus murmured, his voice softening instantly as he checked the healing bandage on Leo's nose. "You okay, son?"
Leo threw his small arms around Marcus’s neck, burying his face in his father's camouflage jacket. "I knew you'd come, Daddy! I told them you were coming!"
"You did good, Leo. You were so brave," Marcus whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Then, he stood up, handing Leo over to a female federal agent with a reassuring nod. "Take him to the medical transport unit. Sarah is waiting there."
As Leo was safely carried away from the courtyard, Marcus turned his full, terrifying attention back to Courtney and Arthur.
Courtney pressed herself flat against the glass door, trembling so violently her teeth chattered. "M-Marcus... please... we’re family! Dad was just trying to teach the boy some manners! It was just a little family dispute—"
"A family dispute?" Marcus interrupted, his voice cutting through the humid afternoon air like a diamond-tipped saw. He took another step forward. "You broke my son's nose with a metal purse because he wouldn't surrender his birthday gift. You terrified him, you starved him of medical care, and then you used a corrupt, bribe-taking municipal judge to kidnap him from his mother."
"Marcus, listen to reason!" Arthur pleaded, holding his hands up defensively. "I can fix this! I have influence in Washington! I can get you reinstated, I can fund your next venture—name your price!"
Marcus let out a dark, humorless laugh. "My price? Arthur, your entire net worth wouldn't cover the cost of the federal indictment waiting for you."
Marcus reached into his tactical vest pocket and pulled out a thick, leather-bound folder, tossing it carelessly at Arthur’s feet. It burst open as it hit the stone, spilling out bank records, wire transfer receipts, offshore tax evasion documents, and notarized confessions from three bribed police officers.
"Department of Defense Inspector General audit," Marcus recited calmly. "Cross-referenced with IRS criminal investigations and FBI anti-corruption task forces. For the last twenty years, you've embezzled municipal funds, taken bribes from real estate developers, and manipulated probate court rulings to steal inheritances from vulnerable families."
Arthur stared at the scattered papers, his knees finally buckling beneath him. He collapsed onto the patio tiles, weeping openly. "How... how did you get all of this?"
"When you spend fifteen years conducting high-value intelligence operations behind enemy lines," Marcus said coldly, leaning down until his face was inches from Arthur's terrified eyes, "you learn that the most corrupt tyrants always leave a paper trail. The only difference is, foreign dictators fall to artillery. You're going to fall to a federal penitentiary cell with a twenty-five-year mandatory minimum."
May you like
Courtney burst into hysterics, sliding down the glass door until she was sitting in a puddle of spilled mimosa. "You can't do this! You're ruining our lives!"
"No, Courtney," Marcus said, turning his back on them as two federal marshals stepped forward with heavy steel handcuffs. "We're just finally holding you accountable."
