Chapter 8 - The Island Standoff
The video feed abruptly cut to static, leaving me in a state of absolute, agonizing suspense over my son's fate.
Marcus grabbed my shoulders and forced me to look at him, promising that his ground teams were already converging on Brooke's location.
I had to suppress my suffocating panic and focus entirely on the mission to intercept Richard's private jet.
Our pursuit aircraft began a steep, aggressive descent toward a tiny, uncharted island hidden deep in the Caribbean Sea.
We landed on a crude dirt runway just moments after Richard's luxurious jet had powered down its engines.
Marcus and his tactical team burst out of our plane, utilizing night-vision optics and suppressed weapons to quickly neutralize the perimeter guards.
I followed closely behind them, my heart pounding with a fierce, unstoppable rage as we breached the heavy hangar doors.
Inside the massive steel structure, Richard was standing next to a stack of aluminum cases filled with my stolen millions.
He was surrounded by a dozen heavily armed cartel mercenaries, deeply engaged in a conversation with a tall, imposing syndicate boss.
Marcus threw a smoke grenade into the center of the room, plunging the hangar into instant, blinding chaos.
Gunfire erupted from every direction as the elite ghost squad systematically eliminated the cartel thugs.
I sprinted through the thick gray smoke, tackling Richard to the concrete floor just as he tried to flee toward a waiting speedboat.
I punched him across the jaw with every ounce of strength in my body, finally unleashing years of suppressed anger and betrayal.
Richard scrambled backward, pathetically begging for his life while clutching his bleeding face.
He promised to return the stolen money and publicly confess to the entire conspiracy if I just let him walk away.
I pressed the cold barrel of a recovered pistol directly against his forehead, savoring the absolute terror in his eyes.
Suddenly, the imposing cartel boss stepped out of the smoke, entirely unharmed and holding a massive hand cannon.
He aimed his weapon at my head and chuckled, claiming that the stolen money rightfully belonged to his organization.
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He ordered me to drop my weapon and step away from Richard, or he would paint the hangar floor with my brains.
Before I could react, Richard suddenly pulled a hidden blade from his boot and violently plunged it directly into the cartel boss's leg.
