Chapter 9
Elena’s heart plummeted into her stomach as she watched the horrific scene unfold in the grand foyer two stories below. Detective Vance, the man who had marched into the bridal suite just minutes ago with a warrant for Mark's arrest, was now the one being hauled away in handcuffs by private security guards.
"How is this possible?" Elena whispered aloud, her voice trembling as the cruel reality of Mark's absolute power settled over her. "He's a state detective. Vance had the warrants... he had the server!"
Mark’s laughter echoed mockingly behind her in the hallway. He shoved the fake police officer aside, sending the man slumping against the wall, and turned to face Julian and Elena with an air of supreme, untouchable arrogance.
"Vance was on my payroll before he even made detective," Mark shouted up the staircase, his voice dripping with venom and triumph. "Did you really think I built a billion-dollar empire by leaving my security up to chance? Every judge, every captain, every investigator in this county answers to the Sterling board of directors. Including the ones your father trusted, Elena."
Julian’s expression remained carved in stone, but his finger tightened fractionally around the trigger of his pistol. "You bought the whole precinct, Mark. But you couldn't buy the federal oversight committee. The SEC has already flagged your offshore accounts. By midnight, your board will oust you."
"The SEC needs physical signatures, Julian—signatures that are currently burning in the fireplace downstairs!" Mark sneered, taking a slow step toward the stairs, raising the heavy brass candlestick like a club. "And once I deal with the two of you, there won't be anyone left to dispute my inheritance."
Elena’s eyes darted frantically around the hallway. There was no escape. The elevator was out of order, the grand staircase was blocked by Mark, and the windows led only to a two-story drop onto unforgiving stone. She reached instinctively for her pocket, her fingers brushing against a small, forgotten object she had picked up from the vanity earlier—the original handwritten love letter Julian had written her four years ago.
Julian didn't flinch as Mark advanced. Instead, he lowered his pistol an inch, his voice dropping into a dangerous, hypnotic cadence. "You always were arrogant, Mark. You assumed I came here alone today."
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Mark stopped dead in his tracks, his foot hovering over the top stair. His eyes darted nervously down the long corridor behind Julian and Elena. "What are you talking about?"
Before Julian could answer, the heavy double doors at the far end of the hallway clicked open with a loud, echoing snap.
