Chapter 8 - The Hostage on the Stage
Screams of absolute terror erupted from the wealthy guests as they trampled over each other to escape the grand ballroom.
Marcus Vance ignored the fleeing crowd entirely, keeping his silver revolver leveled perfectly at my chest.
Evan quickly recovered from his initial shock, a cruel and arrogant smirk spreading slowly across his handsome face.
He confidently walked down the stage stairs and stopped just a few feet away from me, safely behind the barrel of Marcus's gun.
He loudly declared to the few remaining guests that I was clearly a deranged, psychotic stalker trying to impersonate his beloved, deceased wife.
Celeste stepped out from behind the velvet curtains, laughing wickedly as she admired the stolen diamond bracelet on her wrist.
She told Marcus to shoot me and claim self-defense, easily framing me as a violent intruder who attacked a private charity event.
I stood my ground, clutching my son tightly, staring straight into Evan's cold, sociopathic eyes with absolute defiance.
I loudly asked Evan how he planned to explain the fifty million dollars sitting in an illegal offshore mercenary account.
Marcus laughed darkly, boasting that the money had already been fractured into a thousand untraceable cryptocurrency wallets across the globe.
He arrogantly confessed that the Whitmore Atlantic executive board had been laundering cartel money for a decade, and my death was just a convenient bonus.
Evan smiled and reached out to touch my face, mocking me for thinking a dead woman could ever outsmart a criminal empire.
Suddenly, the massive glass skylight above the ballroom shattered into a million pieces, raining dangerous, glittering shards down upon the stage.
Thorne dropped from the ceiling on a tactical rappel line, crashing directly into Marcus Vance and sending the silver revolver flying across the room.
Richard walked casually through the shattered front doors of the ballroom, flanked by a dozen heavily armed federal agents in full tactical gear.
He was bruised and bleeding, but he wore a triumphant, predatory smile that made Evan instantly step backwards in sheer terror.
Richard held up his phone, showing that he had live-streamed Marcus's entire arrogant confession directly to the FBI director's personal server.
The federal agents swarmed the room, violently tackling Evan to the marble floor and snapping heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists.
Celeste screamed hysterically as an agent shoved her against the wall, reading her Miranda rights while stripping the stolen diamonds from her body.
I let out a massive, trembling breath of relief, finally allowing myself to collapse into my father's strong, protective arms.
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But as I hugged Richard, I felt a strange, cold, metallic cylinder tucked inside his tailored jacket pocket.
I pulled away slowly and looked down, realizing that the device in his pocket was a synchronized remote detonator.
