Chapter 14 - The Final Reckoning
The deafening crack of the gunshot shattered the peaceful silence of the glasshouse, the bullet ricocheting off a glass pane and raining tiny shards of crystal down over the hanging roses like frozen rain.
Jonathan slammed his body directly into Arthur, tackling his brother hard to the marble floor. The revolver flew from Arthur’s hand, skittering across the tiles and coming to a stop near the base of Evelyn’s flower-adorned swing.
Arthur grunted as he hit the ground, but he quickly recovered, throwing a vicious elbow that caught Jonathan in the jaw. Blood split across Jonathan’s lip, but he refused to let go, pinning his brother’s shoulders to the floor with all his remaining strength.
"It’s over, Arthur," Jonathan panted, his hands locked around his brother’s throat. "The police are already surrounding the perimeter. Marcus has been locked out of the corporate servers. You lost."
Arthur choked for air, his face turning a deep shade of purple, but a twisted, desperate smile remained plastered across his lips. He didn't try to fight back anymore; instead, he laughed—a ragged, breathless sound that chilled Jonathan to the bone.
"You think... you think arresting us stops the board?" Arthur wheezed, his eyes darting toward the glass doors. "Marcus isn't here, Jonathan. He’s already at the private airstrip... with Evelyn."
Jonathan froze. The world around him seemed to stop spinning. He released his grip on Arthur’s throat, stumbling backward in absolute horror.
"What did you say?" Jonathan whispered, his voice trembling violently.
"While you were playing hero in the basement archive," Arthur gasped, coughing as he rubbed his neck, "our security team escorted Martha and the child straight into Marcus’s limousine under the guise of a protective evacuation. By the time you reach the airstrip, their private jet will already be over the Atlantic."
Before Arthur could finish his sentence, Martha stepped forward with terrifying speed and brought the heavy wooden handle of the garden spade down squarely across Arthur’s temple, knocking him out cold with a dull thud.
Martha dropped the spade, turning to Jonathan with an urgent intensity in her eyes. "He’s lying about the limousine route, Jonathan. I had the estate driver reroute Marcus’s vehicle to the old helipad behind the east wing thirty minutes ago."
May you like
Jonathan didn't wait to hear another word. He turned and sprinted toward the glass doors of the conservatory, bursting out into the cold night rain just as the distant roar of a helicopter engine began to spin up into the stormy sky.
---
