Chapter 9 - The Fall
Time seemed to slow down to an agonizing crawl as Ethan pulled the trigger.
The loud crack of the gunshot echoed across the concrete roof.
But the bullet did not hit me.
The pilot had slammed his elbow into Ethan's ribs at the exact same moment.
The shot went wild, shattering a glass ventilation window high above our heads.
Before Ethan could readjust his aim, a federal sniper fired a single, calculated shot.
The bullet struck Ethan directly in his right shoulder, spinning him violently backward.
He dropped the stolen pistol and let out a pathetic, high-pitched scream.
Ethan lost his footing on the rain-slicked concrete near the edge of the roof.
He desperately flailed his arms, trying to grab the low safety railing.
His bloody fingers slipped against the cold, wet metal.
With a final look of absolute terror, my husband tipped backward over the edge of the six-story building.
I didn't scream.
I didn't cry.
I just walked to the edge of the roof and looked down into the darkness.
Ethan had not fallen all the way to the street below.
He had crashed into a heavy industrial dumpster on the loading dock, breaking both of his legs.
He lay there groaning in agony, surrounded by garbage, exactly where he belonged.
Federal agents immediately swarmed the alleyway, pointing their rifles at his broken body.
"Get medics down there," the lead FBI agent ordered calmly.
"We need him alive to face trial."
The pilot scrambled out of the helicopter and thanked the tactical team profusely.
Rachel rushed onto the roof with a thermal blanket and wrapped it gently around my trembling shoulders.
"It's over," she whispered, pulling me into a careful hug that avoided my burns.
"You finally won."
I looked up at the night sky, taking my first real breath of freedom in three years.
The monsters who killed my father and tortured me were finally defeated.
I allowed the paramedics to place me on a stretcher and wheel me back down to safety.
I knew the road to physical recovery would be long and agonizing.
But the trust fund was secure, my life was mine again, and justice had been served cold.
They wheeled me into a new, secure recovery suite on the VIP floor.
As the nurses settled me into the fresh bed, a young orderly walked in with a silver tray.
"Someone left this for you at the front desk, ma'am," the orderly said politely.
May you like
He set the tray down on my bedside table and quietly left the room.
Sitting perfectly in the center of the tray was a sealed black envelope.
