Chapter 13 - Blood On The Garage Floor
The subterranean parking garage beneath the Mercer Foundation tower smelled of exhaust fumes, damp concrete, and old oil. Rows of polished black SUVs stood in silent formation under the harsh fluorescent strips, casting long, stark shadows against the pillars. Gideon walked slightly ahead of me, his arm protectively around my shoulders, while Noah skipped beside us, clutching a small comic book Sterling had given him. We were heading to the annual charity gala upstairs—our first public appearance together as a restored family, the final proof to the city that the nightmare was over.
A sharp metallic click echoed off the far concrete wall.
"Stop right there, Gideon," a voice rasped from the shadows near the elevator bank.
Victor stepped into the flickering light, his dark suit rumpled, his tie loosened, and his eyes bloodshot and unhinged. In his right hand, he held a compact semi-automatic pistol, the steel barrel gleaming coldly under the fluorescents. Two of his loyal private guards flanked him, their hands hovering near their holsters before they recognized Gideon's imposing stance and hesitated.
"It's over, Victor," Gideon said, stepping smoothly in front of me and Noah, his body forming an absolute shield. "The federal warrants were issued an hour ago. Your accounts are frozen."
"My accounts don't matter anymore!" Victor screamed, his voice cracking with hysterical rage as he raised the firearm directly toward Gideon's chest. "You built this entire empire on my back, and you're throwing me to the wolves for a ghost from the river!"
Before Victor could squeeze the trigger, Gideon lunged forward with explosive, terrifying speed, tackling him sideways into the concrete pillar. The gun discharged with a deafening crack, the bullet ricocheting off the concrete floor and sparking against the bumper of an SUV. I screamed, pulling Noah down behind the nearest vehicle as chaos erupted in the garage.
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Gideon wrestled the weapon away with brutal efficiency, but not before a jagged edge of Victor's belt buckle sliced deep into Gideon's shoulder, soaking his white shirt in dark, spreading crimson. The two rogue guards froze, looking at Victor pinned to the floor and bleeding, then at Gideon standing over them with cold, lethal authority.
Seconds later, heavy tactical boots echoed down the ramp as city police and corporate security swarmed the garage, securing the perimeter and hauling Victor away in zip-ties.
