Chapter 5 - The Desperate Deal
Chloe stared down at us, the cold rain washing away her perfect makeup to reveal a ruthless, calculated killer.
She told Marcus to step back from the ledge or she would put a bullet perfectly through his skull.
My fingers were cramping violently, slipping millimeter by millimeter on the freezing, wet concrete.
I screamed at Chloe, begging her to pull me up and promising I would give her whatever she wanted.
She smiled a wicked, terrifying smile and demanded the master access codes to my family's legacy trust fund.
I told her the trust required a retinal scan and that she absolutely needed me alive to bypass the security firewalls.
Chloe hesitated for a fraction of a second, her greedy mind rapidly calculating the massive financial risks.
That brief moment of hesitation was all Marcus needed to violently kick her legs out from under her.
Chloe screamed as she hit the rooftop, her pistol skittering across the tar entirely out of reach.
Marcus grabbed my wrists with crushing force and hauled me over the concrete ledge to safety.
We did not wait to see if Chloe would recover her weapon in the darkness.
We sprinted down the circular ramps of the parking garage, finally reaching Marcus's stolen, unmarked sedan.
He hotwired the engine in seconds, and we sped out onto the deserted, heavily flooded city streets.
I collapsed into the passenger seat, gasping for air and trembling uncontrollably from the near-death experience.
I asked Marcus where we could possibly go when the federal government and a rogue spy were actively hunting us.
He told me there was only one safe place left: my childhood home, the sprawling estate my father had built before he died.
We arrived at the massive iron gates of the estate an hour later, cloaked entirely in the shadows of the storm.
We quietly picked the lock on the back patio door and slipped into the silent, dark kitchen.
But the house was not empty.
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Sitting perfectly still at the long dining room table, illuminated by a single flickering candle, was Arthur Collins.
My trusted attorney raised a glass of expensive scotch and calmly welcomed us to his trap.
