Chapter 9 - The Loaded Gun
The sub-basement was completely silent except for the harsh, ragged sound of Larkin's breathing.
Penelope stood perfectly still, staring down the barrel of the handgun pointed at her heart.
"Larkin," she said, keeping her voice incredibly soft and steady.
"You know Thomas is lying."
"Do I?" Larkin rasped, his grip on the weapon trembling slightly from his massive blood loss.
"You lied about the Cayman accounts, you replaced my master ledger without my knowledge, and you fight like a trained operative."
He took a unsteady step toward her.
"Who exactly are you working for, Penelope?"
"I am working for you," she insisted, refusing to break eye contact.
"I replaced the ledger because Thomas has been siphoning money from your accounts for six months."
"If I had brought it to you directly, Thomas would have killed me, and you would have never believed a secretary over your own cousin."
Larkin's finger tightened on the trigger.
His mind was heavily clouded by adrenaline, betrayal, and severe trauma.
"Prove it," he demanded, his voice barely a whisper.
"Prove to me right now that you aren't working for the Bratva, or I swear to God I will pull this trigger."
Penelope slowly reached into her obsidian clutch.
Larkin's stance widened, ready to fire if she pulled a weapon.
Instead, she pulled out her encrypted burner phone.
"Account ending in 4409," Penelope recited rapidly, not looking at the screen.
"Three million dollars transferred to a shell company in Moscow on Tuesday."
Larkin blinked, recognizing the highly classified account number.
"Account ending in 8812," she continued, stepping closer to the barrel of the gun.
"Five million dollars transferred tonight, authorized by Thomas Dixon's personal biometric signature."
She held the phone up so the glowing screen illuminated Larkin's pale face.
The screen displayed the exact transaction logs she had just quoted, clearly showing Thomas's digital fingerprints all over the theft.
Larkin stared at the screen, the horrific reality of his family's betrayal finally setting in.
His arm dropped slowly to his side, the heavy gun pointing at the concrete floor.
"He sold me out," Larkin whispered, closing his eyes in defeat.
"He sold us all out," Penelope corrected, tucking the phone away.
"Now, let's get you to that safehouse before his mercenaries sweep this garage."
Larkin nodded weakly, allowing her to wrap his arm around her shoulder once more.
They moved painfully slowly toward the exit ramp, sticking to the deep shadows cast by the concrete pillars.
They had almost reached the street level when a blinding spotlight suddenly snapped on, illuminating them perfectly.
A black armored SUV blocked the exit, its engine rumbling aggressively.
Four heavily armed men stepped out, raising their assault rifles.
But these men were not wearing Thomas's syndicate colors.
They were wearing tactical gear with federal law enforcement insignias.
"Drop your weapon, Steves!" a voice boomed over a bullhorn.
Penelope froze, realizing her encrypted phone had triggered a location beacon when she accessed the offshore banking logs.
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"FBI," Larkin cursed, raising his gun toward the spotlight.
Before he could fire, Penelope lunged forward, tackling him violently to the ground.
