Chapter 4: Cold Blood
“I know you’re in here, little brother,” Marcus called out softly, stepping into the study. The glint of a small handgun caught the moonlight slicing through the window.
Derek stayed completely still, his heart hammering against his ribs.
“You always were our mother’s favorite,” Marcus continued, pacing slowly toward the empty wall safe. “The golden boy who went off to build shelters while I managed Dad’s collapsing empire. Do you have any idea how much debt the old man put us in to keep those wretched community clinics running?”
Marcus stopped in front of the open niche, his expression darkening as he saw the lockbox empty.
“He chose strangers over his own flesh and blood,” Marcus snarled, turning around quickly. “He deserved to sleep in that grave.”
“Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?” Derek stepped out from the shadows, hands raised but eyes fierce and unblinking.
Marcus leveled the barrel at Derek’s chest. “Give me the revised will, Derek. Hand it over, and you walk away with fifty million dollars. Go start your little charities somewhere far away.”
“It was never about the money, Marcus,” Derek said calmly, taking a measured step forward. “Mom taught us that wealth without empathy is just poverty disguised in silk.”
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Marcus smiled bitterly. “Empathy doesn't pay interest on loans.” He raised the gun, his finger tightening on the trigger just as the mansion’s security alarm blared.
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