Chapter 12 - The Barrel of a Sterling
The rain seemed to freeze in the air as Arthur Sterling stepped out from the shelter of the Mercedes, his grey hair slicked back against his skull, his face a mask of cold, unyielding calculation. The heavy revolver in his hand didn't tremble; he held it with the practiced ease of a man who had settled family disputes at gunpoint decades before any of them were born.
"Put the briefcase down, Julian," Arthur’s voice cut through the howling wind, smooth and chillingly calm. "You're playing a game you don't know the rules to."
Julian didn't drop the case. He stood his ground, shielding Marcus and Lily with his body, his hand pressed against the inside of his jacket where the stolen ledger rested against his ribs. "The game is over, Arthur. We have the land deeds. We have the bribery ledgers. We even have the coroner's confession regarding our father's murder."
Arthur didn't blink. A faint, condescending smile touched his lips. "Paper proves nothing, Julian, unless someone is alive to enforce it. And out here, three miles from the nearest paved road, accidents happen during severe weather every single day."
Thomas stepped out from beside the oak tree, raising his hands defensively as he faced his grandfather. "Grandpa, stop! You can't shoot them. The federal audit team is already reviewing the subsidiary backups in Seattle. If you pull that trigger, there's no going back to the boardroom."
Arthur slowly shifted the barrel of the revolver just an inch toward Thomas, his eyes narrowing. "You always were the weakest link, Thomas. You lacked the stomach to see the empire grow, so you chose to die with the chaff."
Marcus let out a sharp cry of rage from the ground, trying to push himself up despite his injured leg. "Don't you dare touch him, Arthur! This ends with us, not him!"
Before Arthur could pull the trigger, the dense brush behind the Mercedes parted with a violent rustle. Sarah stepped out from the shadows of the pine trees, her trench coat torn, her hair wild, holding a heavy iron crowbar in her right hand. She didn't look at Arthur; she looked straight at Julian, her blue eyes blazing with a desperate, manic energy.
"He's lying to you, Julian!" Sarah screamed over the wind. "Arthur didn't just kill your father—he signed away our mother's trust fund to pay off his own gambling debts in Macau back in ninety-two! The whole empire was bankrupt before we were even out of high school!"
Arthur’s face finally lost its mask of absolute control. His jaw twitched, and his eyes darted toward Sarah with sudden fury. "You ungrateful little bitch—"
"Now, Julian!" Sarah yelled, hurling the heavy iron crowbar directly at Arthur's head.
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Arthur instinctively jerked backward, firing the revolver into the air with a deafening roar that echoed off the burnt-out ribs of the timber mill, just as the crowbar clipped his shoulder and sent him stumbling against the side of the Mercedes.
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