Chapter 5 - The Old Crew
The massive yellow blade of the bulldozer completely crushed the mercenary standing closest to the door.
Thick clouds of plaster dust and debris blinded everyone in the small room.
I didn't hesitate for a single second.
I dove behind the overturned motel bed as the remaining mercenaries opened fire wildly into the dust.
The bulldozer threw its engine into reverse, tearing out the rest of the exterior wall.
A booming, familiar voice echoed through a megaphone from the parking lot.
"Nobody shoots the boss while I'm still breathing!" the voice roared over the gunfire.
It was Big John, my massive, heavily scarred site foreman who had worked for me for thirty years.
I had sent a distress text to John's pager right before I went to the bank, telling him I might be in trouble.
John hadn't called the police; he had simply rounded up fifty of my toughest, most loyal steelworkers.
I crawled through the rubble and out into the cold rain of the courtyard.
Dozens of my construction workers were standing in a circle, armed with heavy steel pipes, sledgehammers, and nail guns.
The three surviving mercenaries stumbled out of the ruined room, coughing on the thick dust.
Seeing the army of angry, massive construction workers, the mercenaries immediately dropped their expensive rifles.
Marcus crawled out of the wreckage a moment later, his tailored suit torn and covered in white powder.
Big John grabbed Marcus by the throat with one massive, calloused hand and lifted him entirely off the ground.
I stood up, brushed the dirt from my jacket, and walked slowly toward the terrified billionaire.
I ordered John to drop him.
Marcus fell to his knees, gasping desperately for air in the freezing rain.
I leaned down and grabbed Marcus by his expensive silk tie.
I told him he had exactly ten minutes to reverse the wire transfer from the Cayman Islands back to my Houston accounts.
Marcus laughed blood right into my face, claiming the cartel would slaughter us all if he returned the money.
I signaled to Big John, who casually started up the engine of a massive industrial woodchipper parked nearby.
The deafening scream of the spinning blades made Marcus turn as pale as a ghost.
I dragged Marcus by the collar toward the terrifying machine.
"You have nine minutes left," I whispered coldly into his ear.
Marcus frantically pulled his encrypted smartphone from his pocket and accessed the offshore banking portal.
His trembling fingers authorized the full return of my fifty million dollars.
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But just as the transaction cleared on my phone, Marcus smiled a bloody, wicked smile.
"You got your money back, Franklin, but you are way too late to save your precious son," Marcus gasped.
