Chapter 8 - Hostage to Greed
We reached the bottom landing, clinging to the shadows behind a row of industrial ventilation ducts.
At the end of the red-lit hallway stood the heavy steel door of the family vault. Fiona was kneeling on the cold floor, her emerald gown ruined, sobbing hysterically as she pressed a trembling hand against her bleeding temple.
Standing over her was Matthias.
He wasn't comforting her. He had his hands wrapped tightly around the lapels of a heavy-set man wearing tactical gear, pinned against the vault door.
Wait.
I squinted through the crimson haze.
Matthias wasn't fighting the intruder.
He was holding the man up—laughing.
"You're late, Viktor," Matthias was saying, his voice completely steady, devoid of the panic he had performed upstairs. "I had to stage the smoke canister myself to clear the room."
My breath caught in my throat. My feet froze to the concrete floor.
Beside me, Logan went utterly rigid.
The man called Viktor shoved Matthias off with a gruff grunt, holstering a suppressed submachine gun. "The storm slowed us down. Did the old man sign the power of attorney before the panic?"
"He signed it right before dinner," Matthias said, tapping his breast pocket with a smirk of absolute triumph. "The Hensley acquisition is officially dissolved. The entire insurance payout for the estate goes into the Zurich account once this place burns."
"And your wife?" Viktor asked, wiping snow and sweat from his bearded face. "The pregnant one?"
Matthias didn't even hesitate. His voice was casual, light, as if he were discussing discarding a piece of outdated furniture.
May you like
"She was upstairs near the primary blast radius. By the time the fire department gets through the blizzard, there won't be enough left of her to autopsy. Tragic holiday accident. A grieving widower inherits everything."
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