Chapter 9 - Justice in the Rain
Daniel closed the distance in two lunging strides.
He grabbed Thorne’s gun wrist, twisting it outward with enough force to shatter the joint, sending the revolver clattering across the wet stones. With his other hand, Daniel scooped Leo by the waist and hurled him behind the cover of a massive oak wine cask.
“Stay down, Leo!” Daniel roared.
Thorne, despite his shattered wrist, was an experienced operative. He drew a combat knife from his boot with his left hand, slashing upward toward Daniel’s throat.
The blade caught Daniel across the forearm, slicing through the midnight-blue wool of his wedding tuxedo and opening a deep, searing line across his skin. Blood welled up, hot and crimson.
Daniel didn't flinch.
The pain was nothing compared to the four years of lies, the poisoned coffee, the memory of Clara’s broken body on the highway, and the sight of his child with a gun against his head.
Daniel caught Thorne’s left arm by the elbow, drove his shoulder into the man’s chest, and slammed him against the rough stone wall. Thorne struck the masonry with a sickening thud, the knife slipping from his numb fingers.
Before Thorne could recover, Daniel drove a devastating right hook into his jaw, followed by a knee to the ribs that shattered bone. Thorne collapsed onto his hands and knees, spitting blood and teeth onto the damp cellar floor.
Daniel stood over him, breathing heavily, his chest heaving, his fist covered in the man’s blood. He reached down, picked up the Kimber from the floor, and pressed the cold muzzle directly against the base of Julian Thorne’s skull.
“Give me one reason,” Daniel whispered, his voice trembling with the edge of madness. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't finish what Clara started right now.”
Thorne gasped for air, his aristocratic composure entirely demolished. “You… you’re a businessman, Vance… you don't have… the stomach for it…”
The cellar doors above burst open with a deafening crash.
“State Police! Tactical team! Nobody move!”
Dozens of high-powered tactical beams flooded the vaulted cellar, piercing the darkness with blinding, sterile white light. Armed officers poured down the stairs, their assault rifles raised, shouting commands that bounced off the stone walls.
Behind them came Arthur Pendelton, accompanied by Detective Sarah Lin of the State Criminal Investigation Division.
Daniel didn't look at the police. He kept his gun pressed to Thorne’s head for three agonizing seconds.
Then, he heard a small voice from behind the wine cask.
“Dad.”
Daniel’s finger relaxed on the trigger.
He slowly lowered the Kimber, engaged the safety, and placed the weapon gently on top of a wine barrel. He turned his back on Julian Thorne and walked directly toward his son.
“I’m here, Leo,” Daniel said, his voice breaking entirely as he fell to his knees on the wet stone. “I’m right here.”
Leo threw his arms around his father’s neck, burying his face in Daniel’s torn, bloodstained shoulder. Daniel wrapped his arms around the boy, holding him so tightly that the rest of the world—the shouting police officers, the flashing lights, the rain outside—faded into distant, meaningless noise.
Above them, officers pinned Thorne to the floor, snapping heavy steel cuffs around his wrists.
“Julian Thorne,” Detective Lin’s voice rang out clearly, authoritative and unwavering. “You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, corporate espionage, and the first-degree murder of Clara Vance.”
On the stairs, two paramedics were dragging Evelyn Cross up toward an ambulance, her face blackened by smoke, her arm splinted, her mouth spewing incoherent curses into the flashing blue lights of the night.
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It was over.
***
