Chapter 7 - The Net Closes
The morning fog over Boston harbor was instantly shattered by the deafening roar of tactical sirens and the rhythmic, thumping beat of two federal helicopters descending from the low clouds.
From both ends of the cobblestone alley, unmarked black Suburbans, federal law enforcement cruisers, and tactical armored personnel carriers screeched to a halt, completely boxing in Arthur Sterling’s town car.
“Federal agents! Stay in the vehicle! Put your hands where we can see them!” a voice boomed over a loudspeaker, reverberating against the granite pillars of the Maritime Bank.
Inside the town car, pure bedlam erupted.
“Drive! Drive!” Victoria shrieked at the chauffeur, clawing at the partition glass. “Ram them! Run them down! Get us out of here!”
The chauffeur, terrified for his life, slammed his foot onto the accelerator. The heavy town car surged forward, its tires screaming against the wet cobblestones, heading straight for the armored tactical van where Daniel stood.
Daniel didn't move. He didn't even flinch.
A split second before the town car could impact, Marcus fired an engine-disabling heavy round directly into the block from the roof of the van. The town car’s radiator exploded in a cloud of white steam, its front axle buckling with a horrific metallic crunch. The vehicle spun ninety degrees, slamming violently sideways into the bank’s granite retaining wall.
The doors of the federal vehicles flew open. Over twenty FBI tactical operators in green body armor swarmed the wrecked car, assault rifles raised.
“Out! Out! On the ground! Now!”
Arthur Sterling was dragged from the rear seat, his bespoke overcoat torn, his silver cane clattering uselessly across the wet stones. He was forced face-down against the cobblestones, his cheek pressed into a puddle of dirty rainwater. For seventy years, this man had dictated the politics of New England from smoke-filled penthouses; now, he was being cuffed with plastic zip-ties like a common street thug.
“Do you know who I am?!” Arthur roared, coughing on the grime. “I made the Attorney General! I funded your director’s campaign! You’ll all be walking beats in Alaska by Monday!”
“Arthur Sterling,” a tall, gray-haired woman in an FBI trench coat said, stepping over his cane. Special Agent in Charge Sarah Jenkins flashed her gold badge. “You are under arrest for federal racketeering, conspiracy to commit murder, corporate espionage, and high treason. You have the right to remain silent. I strongly suggest you use it.”
A few feet away, Victoria was dragged out through the shattered window of the town car, screaming like a wounded animal. Her manicured hands were cuffed behind her back, her designer cream suit covered in oil and soot.
As the agents led her toward a transport van, she caught sight of Daniel standing across the street.
“Daniel!” she screamed, her voice cracking with pure, manic desperation. “Daniel, look at me! It was my father! He made me do it! He forced me to poison Claire! He told me he’d kill me if I didn't get your money! Daniel, you loved me! Tell them to let me go!”
Daniel walked slowly across the cobblestones, stopping three feet from her. His face was an unreadable mask of cold stone.
“I never loved you, Victoria,” Daniel said, his voice cutting through the wailing sirens. “I loved an illusion that you manufactured. But Claire... Claire loved this family enough to destroy you from beyond the grave.”
Victoria looked past Daniel.
In the passenger seat of Daniel’s armored van, little Lily was watching through the open window. The little girl wasn't crying anymore. She wore her crooked silver tiara proudly upon her curls, holding her mother’s faded pink handbag securely in her lap.
Lily looked down at the woman who had tried to throw her into the streets, who had stolen her mother’s breath, and who had tried to steal her father’s heart.
With slow, deliberate calm, the five-year-old waved a tiny, dismissive hand.
“Goodbye, mean lady,” Lily said softly.
Victoria let out a final, broken sob as the agents shoved her into the back of the transport van, slamming the steel doors shut on her screams forever.
Special Agent Jenkins walked over to Daniel, extending a firm hand. “Mr. Vance. The files you transferred are comprehensive. We’ve already seized Arthur’s private planes, frozen their offshore accounts in Zurich and Grand Cayman, and arrested Judge Harrison at his home an hour ago. The hit squad sent to your Cape house was neutralized by state troopers ten minutes ago. It’s over.”
Daniel shook her hand. “Thank you, Sarah.”
“Your wife was a brilliant woman, Daniel,” Jenkins said, looking toward the van. “She walked into my field office three days before she died. She told me she didn't have enough time to finish the investigation herself, but that when the day came, you would deliver the final blow. She believed in you.”
A lump formed in Daniel’s throat, a heavy, suffocating weight that he had carried for two long, agonizing years.
May you like
“She was the best of us,” Daniel whispered.
***
