Chapter 8
The silence that followed the closing of the bridal suite door was agonizing. Elena held her breath, her fingers clutching the delicate lace of her wedding gown as she strained her ears for any sound from within the room. Next to her, Julian stood like a statue, his weight balanced evenly on the balls of his feet, the suppressed pistol held low and close to his thigh.
A muffled thud echoed through the wall, followed by the splintering sound of wood cracking under sudden pressure.
"He's destroying the server," Julian muttered under his breath, taking a slow, calculated step forward out of the alcove.
Before Elena could warn him to stay back, the door of the bridal suite burst open. The fake police officer stumbled backward into the hallway, gasping for air as a pair of strong hands gripped him tightly from behind. It wasn't Julian who had grabbed him, and it wasn't Detective Vance either. It was Mark.
Mark’s tuxedo was completely ruined, his white shirt stained with blood and perfume, his dark hair disheveled wildly around his sweat-slicked forehead. In his right hand, he clutched a heavy brass candlestick, using it to brutally pin the rogue operative against the corridor wall.
"You incompetent idiot!" Mark screamed, his voice cracking with unhinged fury as he slammed the candlestick against the wall inches from the imposter's head. "I told you to secure the flash drive, not trip over your own feet when the real police walked in!"
"The... the precinct was tipped off," the fake cop choked out, his hands clawing desperately at Mark's wrists. "Vance found the secondary backup before I even reached the desk!"
Julian stepped out from the shadows fully into the light, his pistol raised and pointed squarely at Mark’s chest. "It’s over, Mark. The game is finished. Drop the weapon and put your hands where I can see them."
Mark froze. He slowly turned his head away from the pinned operative, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Julian. A grotesque, terrifying smile stretched across Mark’s face, baring his teeth like a cornered animal.
"Finished?" Mark laughed, a high-pitched, manic sound that echoed down the empty corridor. "You think a few documents and a corrupt detective can bring me down, Julian? Look down at the grand staircase."
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Elena, driven by an overwhelming compulsion, crept past Julian and peered over the wooden banister into the sunlit foyer below. Her breath caught in her throat.
Standing at the foot of the stairs, surrounded by three hundred horrified wedding guests, was Detective Vance—with his hands cuffed tightly behind his back, flanked by two armed men wearing private security uniforms bearing the Sterling corporate crest.
