Chapter 10 - Sibling Blood
The rain instantly soaked through my tactical jacket as I moved along the perimeter of the cabin, staying low beneath the window line. The wooden planks of the porch were slick with mud and dead pine needles.
Through the broken glass of the rear window, voices drifted out into the howling wind.
"Sign the second page, Brooke!" a harsh, raspy male voice barked. "Sign it, or I swear to God I'll let these boys leave you tied to that chair when the river breaches the floorboards."
"Julian, please!" Brooke’s terrified scream echoed inside. "I don't have power of attorney! Nolan does! Mom transferred the voting rights to Nolan before he deployed!"
"Nolan is a soldier boy who knows nothing about business," the voice snarled. "He’ll do whatever Mother tells him, just like he always did."
"No, he won't!" Brooke sobbed. "Nolan knows everything! He knows about the Cayman accounts! The FBI arrested Mom tonight, Julian! It’s over! The feds are coming here right now!"
A heavy slap echoed through the timber walls, followed by the clatter of a overturned chair.
I didn't wait any longer.
I stepped onto the porch, raised my right combat boot, and kicked the cabin’s heavy wooden door directly off its rusted hinges.
The door crashed inward with a thunderous bang.
"Federal authority! Nobody move!" I roared, leveling my weapon into the center of the dimly lit room.
Two men dressed in tactical rain gear immediately reached for holsters at their hips. I fired two rapid shots into the wooden beam between them—a combat-trained warning shot that splintered the pine two inches from their ears.
"Hands on your heads! Now!" I barked. The sheer command authority in my voice, forged in five years of active military combat, froze both hired men instantly. They raised their hands, backing slowly against the hearth.
In the center of the room, tied to a wooden dining chair with heavy zip-ties, was Brooke. Her face was swollen, her designer sweater torn, her mascara running in black streaks down her cheeks.
And standing behind her, holding a silver pen in one hand and a combat knife in the other, was a man with cold, piercing gray eyes—my father’s eyes.
He had a jagged scar running from his left temple down to the corner of his lip. He looked older, weathered by decades of rough living, but the bone structure of the Mercer bloodline was unmistakable.
"Hello, little brother," Julian said, his lips curling into a predatory grin. "You grew up big. Just like Dad wanted."
"Drop the knife, Julian," I said, my sight-picture centered squarely on his chest. "Step away from Brooke."
"You always were Diane's good little soldier," Julian sneered, refusing to move. "She shaved your wife's head like an animal, Nolan. I saw the footage on the dark web servers Brooke's friends were sharing. And you're still playing the righteous officer?"
"The FBI has Diane in custody," I said evenly. "Brooke was supposed to face a judge. This ends tonight."
Julian laughed—a bitter, hollow sound that had no joy in it. "You think this ends with a courtroom? You think Diane went to jail because Evan Pierce is a smart agent?"
Julian slowly lowered the knife, letting it drop to the floorboards with a dull clatter. He kicked it toward me.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, keeping my weapon steady.
Julian reached into his heavy leather jacket with agonizing slowness, pulling out a manila file folder stamped with an official purple ink seal.
"Diane didn't run the offshore accounts alone, Nolan," Julian said, his gray eyes burning into mine. "Evan Pierce didn't raid this house to protect your wife. Evan Pierce was Diane’s lover twelve years ago."
The air left my chest.
Brooke gasped, her eyes widening in genuine terror. "What... what did you say?"
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"Check the signature on the wire transfer authorizations from 2012, Nolan," Julian said, tossing the folder onto the table in front of me. "Diane didn't frame Eliza to protect the Mercer name. She framed Eliza because Eliza found Evan's name on Dad’s autopsy report."
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