Chapter 8 - The Cornered Predator
Viktor had out on bail—a detail my legal team had missed in the flurry of motion filings. He looked haggard, his suit unpressed, his eyes wild with the desperation of a man who knew his freedom was measured in days.
"You shouldn't have come back here, kid," Viktor growled, his hand steady on the weapon. "Your old man promised me two million dollars into a Swiss account if I kept these drives clean until the trial."
"My father is broke, Viktor," I said quietly, forcing myself to stand tall, keeping my body between him and the laptop. "The federal government froze all his offshore accounts six hours ago. Whatever he promised you, you'll never see a dime."
Viktor’s eye twitched. "He’s got cash stored in the Florida estate. He's taking a private flight to Grand Cayman on Saturday."
"He's using you," I said, taking a slow, deliberate step toward the side table where my flashlight lay. "The moment you destroy these drives, Richard will name you as the sole architect of the extortion. He’ll tell the prosecutor that he was an elderly man manipulated by his head of security. You’ll take the twenty-year fall while he sipping drinks in a country with no extradition."
"Shut up!" Viktor barked, stepping closer, raising the sight to the center of my forehead. "Give me the drive!"
"No," a voice echoed from the top of the basement stairs.
Viktor turned his head for a fraction of a second—and that was all the time I needed.
I lunged forward, slamming my shoulder into his torso. We crashed against the heavy steel door of the vault, the gun going off with a deafening BANG that shattered a row of wine bottles behind us. The smell of copper and spilled Cabernet filled the cramped space.
I grabbed Viktor's wrist, driving my thumb into his nerve cluster until his fingers opened and the weapon clattered to the concrete floor. He hit me across the jaw with a heavy left hook, sending me stumbling backward against the filing cabinets.
As Viktor scrambled on his knees to retrieve the gun, a heavy iron fireplace poker struck him square across the back of the neck.
Viktor collapsed onto his stomach with a heavy groan, motionless.
Standing over him, panting, her hands trembling as she held the iron poker, was Grace.
I stared at her in complete shock, wiping a smear of blood from my lip. "Grace? How... how did you—"
"I followed you," she breathed, dropping the poker onto the floor with a loud clang. She rushed to my side, grabbing my face in her hands, her eyes searching mine in frantic panic. "Are you hurt? Did he shoot you?"
"I'm fine," I rasped, wrapping my arms around her, holding her tightly against my chest as the adrenaline surged through us. "I'm okay. Grace, how did you know I was here?"
"Because I know you, Arthur," she whispered into my neck, tears soaking into my jacket. "I knew you were trying to protect me from whatever Richard threatened you with. I saw you leave the house at midnight. I called Julian, and he told me about the vault."
She pulled back, looking past me into the open vault, her gaze landing on the laptop screen where the video frame was still paused on my father’s face inside the nursery.
May you like
Grace walked slowly into the room, staring at the image of the man who had stolen her youth. But instead of crying, instead of flinching, she reached out and pressed the save button on the keyboard.
"It’s over, Arthur," she said, her voice dropping into a tone of quiet, absolute authority. "No more hiding. No more legal maneuvering. We end this tomorrow."
