Chapter 14 - The Final Audit
Elena didn't drop her weapon. She didn't flinch.
""You're late, Keller,"" she said calmly, her eyes remaining fixed on her father.
""Drop the gun, or I put a round through your spine,"" Keller ordered, cocking the hammer. ""Arthur, we have to move now. The Coast Guard is intercepting our emergency transponder.""
Arthur looked at Keller, then back at Elena. A slight, disappointed smirk touched the corner of his mouth. ""You see, Elena? This is the problem with hired help. They always panic when the storm gets loud.""
""Shut up and let's go, Vance!"" Keller snapped, his eyes darting toward the door.
Elena spoke without turning around. ""Keller, did Arthur tell you what was in that titanium case?""
Keller frowned. ""It's the offshore accounts. Our seventy-thirty split.""
""There is no seventy-thirty split,"" Elena said smoothly. ""Arthur’s plane at the northern airfield wasn't a decoy. It was loaded with your arrest warrant, signed by the Attorney General, along with your offshore account numbers. The moment this ship clears the harbor, Arthur’s automated system is set to transmit your location to the Navy as a rogue operative who hijacked a private vessel.""
Keller’s face drained of color. ""What?""
""Don't listen to her,"" Arthur said coldly. ""She’s bluffing.""
""Look at the ledger on his desk, Keller,"" Elena pushed, using the exact psychological leverage her father had taught her years ago. ""Why would Arthur Vance share three billion dollars with a man who failed to kill a single federal agent in an apartment building?""
Keller’s eyes flickered toward the desk. For a fraction of a second, his gun barrel dipped.
That fraction was all Elena needed.
She dropped to one knee, spinning low as she drew her backup combat knife from her boot and drove it upward into Keller’s thigh. Keller screamed in agony, his weapon discharging wildly into the wood-paneled ceiling.
Elena rose instantly, delivering a devastating elbow to Keller’s jaw, knocking him unconscious to the floor.
She turned back to her father.
Arthur had already moved. He lunged across the desk, not with a gun, but with a concealed ceramic blade, slashing down toward her throat with lethal precision.
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Elena blocked the strike with her left forearm, the blade cutting deep into her trench coat, but her right hand drove her Glock firmly under Arthur’s chin.
The cold steel stopped him dead in his tracks.
