Chapter 8 - The Hostage Exchange
Ethan didn't even look at the gun.
He dropped to his knees and picked up the transfer documents.
He pulled a gold fountain pen from his ruined suit jacket.
"Ethan, wait," Marcus mocked. "Don't you want to read the fine print? You're signing away twelve billion dollars."
"I don't care about the money," Ethan said without hesitation.
He signed his name on every single line with quick, aggressive strokes.
Hannah watched him.
In that moment, she realized the man she had loved seven years ago wasn't dead.
He had been buried under grief and lies, but he was right here, sacrificing his entire life's work for a son he had known for less than an hour.
Ethan gathered the papers and stood up.
"It's done," Ethan said, holding the documents out. "Let them go."
Marcus walked forward, keeping the gun trained on Hannah.
He snatched the papers from Ethan's hand and inspected the signatures.
A cruel, triumphant smile spread across Marcus's face.
"Perfect," Marcus whispered.
He folded the papers and tucked them into his breast pocket.
"Now, a deal is a deal," Marcus said. "The boy can go."
Hannah let out a sob of relief and stepped forward.
"But," Marcus continued, raising the gun again. "I can't leave witnesses. I told you on the phone, Ethan, you have to choose who lives."
Marcus aimed the gun directly at Hannah’s chest.
"The mother, or you?" Marcus asked.
Ethan didn't hesitate for a microsecond.
He stepped directly in front of Hannah, shielding her body entirely with his own.
"Me," Ethan said fiercely. "Take me."
Hannah grabbed his back, crying.
"No, Ethan, please!" she begged.
Marcus laughed, his finger tightening on the trigger.
"How romantic. But I think I'll just shoot both of you."
Suddenly, a small blur of motion darted from the shipping crate.
Noah, who had been completely silent, launched himself forward.
He kicked Marcus directly in the shin with all the force his little six-year-old legs could muster.
"Leave my mom alone!" Noah screamed.
Marcus hissed in pain and stumbled backward, startled by the attack.
May you like
His finger slipped on the trigger.
A loud gunshot ripped through the damp air of the warehouse.
