Chapter 3 - The Escape
Hearing Mason’s voice ordering my death completely shattered my reality.
The man who smiled at my dinner table every Sunday was the true monster behind this entire conspiracy.
The leader hung up the phone and casually walked toward me with the knife raised.
He told his men to untie my legs so they could drag my body to the roof and throw me off.
As one of the guards bent down to cut the zip ties around my ankles, I saw my only chance.
I was seventy years old, but I had spent forty years working on rough construction sites before becoming a billionaire.
I kicked my heavy leather boot directly into the guard’s throat with all the remaining strength I had.
The guard collapsed backward, dropping a heavy tactical flashlight onto the concrete floor.
I threw my upper body forward, slamming my head directly into the leader’s nose.
He screamed in pain, dropping the knife as blood poured down his face.
I rolled across the floor and desperately rubbed my bound wrists against the sharp blade of the dropped knife.
The plastic zip ties snapped, freeing my bleeding hands just as the other two guards raised their rifles.
I grabbed the heavy metal flashlight and hurled it directly at the main electrical breaker box on the wall.
The flashlight smashed the old circuitry, plunging the entire warehouse into pitch-black darkness.
Gunfire immediately erupted, sparking brightly in the dark as bullets chipped the concrete around me.
I crawled frantically behind a stack of wooden shipping crates, my heart pounding violently in my chest.
I knew the layout of these old industrial buildings better than anyone because my company had built most of them.
I felt my way along the damp wall until my hands found the cold metal of a maintenance ventilation shaft.
I kicked the rusty grate open and squeezed my tired body into the narrow, dusty tunnel.
I crawled blindly for several minutes while the armed men shouted and searched the darkness below me.
I finally pushed open the exterior grate and tumbled out into a muddy back alley.
The cold night rain soaked my ruined suit as I forced myself to stand up and run.
I knew I could not go to the local police because Mason had endless connections and corrupt politicians in his pocket.
I needed someone I could trust implicitly with my life and my fortune.
I ran for two miles until I reached the secluded home of Arthur Penhaligon, my long-time corporate attorney.
Arthur opened his front door in his pajamas, looking absolutely shocked by my bloody and bruised appearance.
I pushed my way inside and quickly explained everything about the passbook, Raymond’s murder, and Mason’s betrayal.
Arthur looked grave, pouring us both a glass of expensive scotch to calm our nerves.
He promised me that he would use his federal connections to protect me and expose Mason immediately.
I felt a massive wave of relief wash over me as I finally took a deep drink of the expensive liquor.
Arthur walked over to his desk, picked up his phone, and dialed a number from memory.
He didn't call the FBI.
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Instead, he looked at me with cold, dead eyes and spoke into the receiver.
He told Mason that the old man had just walked right into his living room, exactly as they had planned.
