Chapter 8: The Price of Truth**
"Hold your fire! Secure the girl!" a voice barked from the boat.
The hesitation was all Marcus needed. He lunged forward, tackling the closest operative into the surging river current, disarming him in the freezing water.
Director Vance seized the distraction to fire an emergency flare directly at the riverboat's helm. The brilliant crimson phosphorus exploded against the windshield, blinding the crew and causing the vessel to veer wildly, running aground on a sandbar with a violent screech of metal.
Sirens wailed in the near distance. Real sirens—the French National Police, alerted by the automated evidence files Arthur had queued for local authorities.
The remaining mercenary scrambled back toward the river, realizing their window had collapsed. Within minutes, the riverbank was flooded with the blue-and-red flashing lights of dozens of law enforcement vehicles.
Paramedics wrapped Camille in an insulated foil shock blanket, sitting her on the back of an ambulance. A senior inspector from the anti-corruption division approached Marcus, exchanging hushed words before saluting the old man with solemn respect.
Camille sat shivering, sipping water, her eyes fixed on the empty highway.
The battle was won. The news reports on the paramedic's radio were already talking about the unprecedented downfall of the Consortium. Thousands of misappropriated humanitarian funds were being frozen and returned to public trusts.
Yet her heart felt hollowed out.
"He isn't coming, is he?" she asked Marcus as he sat beside her, his arm bandaged.
May you like
Marcus looked down at the gravel, silent.
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