Chapter 9 - The Final Stand
He grabbed my arm, whispering, "Mark sends his regards."
He didn't notice Dad stepping out from behind a concrete pillar. Dad didn't yell. He didn't make a scene. He simply stepped into the man’s space and said, "Walk away, or I end this right here."
The man looked at Dad—really looked at him—and saw the scar on his shoulder, the coldness in his eyes, and the sheer, unyielding weight of a man who had survived hell.
The man dropped my arm and ran.
Dad looked at me. "You ready to finish this?"
"I’m ready," I said.
We went to the jail. I requested a face-to-face visit. Mark sat on the other side of the glass, looking thin and pathetic. He smiled, thinking I was there to beg.
"You look terrible, Mark," I said.
May you like
He leaned in, his voice a hiss. "You’re dead, Sarah."
I placed a photo on the glass. It was the printout of his federal indictment. "No, Mark. You’re finished. And I’m just getting started."
