Chapter 11 - The Wolf at the Door
The cabin went entirely silent, save for the violent drumming of the rain against the tin roof.
My mind raced through the past twelve hours. Evan Pierce arriving at the house with the video footage. Evan's calm, measured demeanor. Evan executing the federal search warrants with clinical precision, locking Diane away in a controlled transport unit while letting the private contractors ambush Brooke on an isolated county road.
"My father died of congestive heart failure," I said, my voice dropping dangerously low.
"Dad was poisoned with liquid thallium over a six-month period, little brother," Julian said, taking a step toward the table. "I have the exhumation toxicological analysis conducted by a private coroner in Dallas. Guess who signed off on the original county death certificate without requesting a state inquest? Victor Vance, approved by special field investigator Evan Pierce."
I looked down at the manila folder. I opened it with my left hand while keeping my Sig Sauer trained on Julian.
Inside was a carbon copy of an investigative report from the Department of Justice, dated eight years back. At the bottom of the page, in dark black ink, was the signature of the reviewing supervisor:
*Special Agent Evan Pierce.*
And clipped to the document was a photograph taken outside our family estate five years ago—a photograph of Evan Pierce standing on the rear terrace, his arm casually wrapped around Diane Mercer’s waist.
"Evan Pierce didn't arrest Diane to prosecute her," Julian whispered, his face inches from mine under the flickering amber bulb. "He placed her in protective custody to keep her away from state jurisdiction. And right now, Nolan... while you're standing in this cabin pointing a gun at your brother..."
Julian pointed toward the front door, into the black, howling rain where my truck was parked.
"Evan’s secondary tactical squad didn't follow Brooke," Julian said with chilling finality. "They followed you."
Before the words had completely left his mouth, the blare of a vehicle horn shattered the night outside.
Then came a sound that turned my blood into ice: the sharp, unmistakable crack of a single gunshot from the gravel driveway, followed instantly by Eliza’s terrified, piercing scream.
I didn't think. I spun toward the shattered doorway, but Julian's hand clamped down hard onto my tactical vest, pulling me back into the shadows of the porch.
"Don't run into the light, Nolan!" Julian hissed, his eyes blazing in the dark. "Look at the truck!"
Through the torrential downpour, the headlights of three black government Suburbans illuminated my pickup truck. The driver-side window of my truck had been shattered into spiderwebs of frosted glass.
And standing in the blinding glare of the high-beams, holding a suppressed assault rifle in one hand and dragging Eliza by her sweater toward the lead SUV, was Agent Evan Pierce.
He turned toward the dark cabin, raised a tactical loudspeaker, and his voice boomed over the thunder of the storm:
"Captain Mercer! You have sixty seconds to bring out the original ledger and Julian's files! If you don't drop your weapons and walk into the lights by the count of sixty... your wife pays the remaining balance with her life!"
May you like
Eliza screamed my name into the rain, her shorn head glistening under the blinding halogen beams, before a black-gloved hand shoved her roughly into the back of the SUV.
The countdown began.
