Chapter 8
The sudden flash of red warning lights bathed the office in an ominous, pulsing glow. Miller cursed loudly, realizing the trap had been sprung. "Grab the bag and move!" he ordered his subordinate, lunging across the desk toward Arthur. But Arthur sidestepped with surprising agility, kicking the heavy wooden chair directly into the path of the oncoming operative. The man stumbled hard, crashing into a filing cabinet that spilled a cascade of paper onto the floor. Miller lunged forward, grabbing Arthur by the lapels of his suit and slamming him against the brick wall. "You stupid old man," Miller snarled, pressing a forearm against Arthur’s throat. "You just signed your own death warrant."
Arthur gasped for air, his vision blurring slightly at the edges, but he kept his eyes locked onto Miller’s with unyielding defiance. "The federal marshals are already three blocks away," Arthur managed to choke out through gritted teeth. "You won't make it to the Verrazzano Bridge." Sirens began wailing in the distance, their high-pitched frequencies cutting through the quiet Brooklyn afternoon. Hearing the unmistakable approach of law enforcement, Miller’s expression flickered with calculated self-preservation. He released Arthur, grabbing the "PREMIUM PARIS" shopping bag off the desk. "We’ll finish this later, Arthur," Miller hissed, turning sharply and motioning to his battered subordinate. The two men bolted down the hallway, bursting through the front entrance just as a pair of unmarked federal cruisers screeched to a halt outside the curb.
Elena rushed back through the rear emergency exit, sliding to a stop beside Arthur, who was coughing and catching his breath against the brick wall. "Are you alright?" she asked frantically, helping him stand upright. Arthur straightened his wrinkled suit jacket, brushed the dust from his sleeves, and offered a reassuring, tired smile. "I’m fine, Elena. They got the last bag, but it doesn't matter." She looked at him in bewilderment. "They stole the rest of the money! How does that not matter?" Arthur shook his head slowly, looking out the front window as the flashing blue and red lights of police cruisers illuminated the room. "Because that money was never mine to keep, and tracing those serial numbers was the trap I set for Marcus all along."
