Chapter 8: A Breach in the Ranks
The halogen work lamp cast a harsh, glaring light across the open floor of the penthouse, freezing us in place. Out of the shadows near the sliding glass doors stepped Vance, his silver hair neatly combed, dressed in an impeccably tailored evening jacket that looked entirely out of place amid the construction dust. In his right hand, he held a compact, suppressed pistol, its dark barrel leveled with steady, professional precision straight at Marquina's chest.
"Vance," Marquina said, his voice entirely devoid of panic, carrying only a cold, heavy resonance that seemed to drop the temperature in the room. "You always were thorough when it came to cleaning up after my father. I should have realized you were the one holding the ledger."
"Business, Arthur, strictly business," Vance replied, taking a slow, measured step forward while keeping the weapon steady. "Your father had sentimentality issues. He thought a hotel was built on hospitality and trust. He didn't understand that modern real estate is won and lost in the margins. Once you were out of the way, the acquisition of the entire portfolio would have been signed off by morning."
My heart hammered against my ribs, but my hands remained steady as I shifted my weight slightly, positioning myself half a step behind Marquina's broad shoulder, keeping my fingers hooked into the fabric of my gray apron where the white towel hung. Vance's eyes flicked toward me for a fraction of a second, a flicker of irritation crossing his polished features.
"And who is this?" Vance sneered, his gaze returning to Marquina. "A cleaning woman? Really, Arthur? You've reduced your inner circle to the staff?"
"She has better instincts than my entire security detail," Marquina answered smoothly, his muscles coiling beneath his sharp black suit like a spring under tension. "And unlike you, she didn't sell out for a shell company's promise."
"It doesn't matter what she knows," Vance said, his finger tightening slightly on the trigger guard. "The elevator failed to drop you, but the roof access is private. A tragic accident during a routine inspection. The corporate board will express their deepest regrets at the funeral."
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Vance started to squeeze the trigger, but in the exact split second before the hammer fell, I pulled the white cleaning towel from my apron, whipping it forward with a sharp snap straight into the glare of the halogen work lamp, shattering the fragile bulb and plunging the center of the penthouse into sudden, blinding darkness.
A sharp crack of a suppressed gunshot split the air right beside my ear, the bullet burying itself harmlessly into the drywall behind us. In the sudden pitch black, Marquina moved with explosive, athletic speed, closing the distance across the hardwood floor with a heavy thud of leather shoes and driving his shoulder straight into Vance's chest, sending the older man crashing backward over the folding table and shattering the ledgers across the floor.
