Chapter 9 - The Reckoning
""End of the line, Miller,"" Briggs snarled, his finger tightening on the trigger of his Glock. ""Assaulting an officer of the law, destruction of municipal property, domestic terrorism. I’m going to get a medal for putting you down.""
Before Briggs could complete the trigger pull, David dropped his weight, lunging forward with a devastating low tackle. The bullet discharged, shattering the light fixture above them in a shower of sparks and hot glass.
David’s shoulder slammed into Briggs’s midsection, driving the corrupt detective through the drywall of the adjacent office partition. The impact knocked the firearm from Briggs’s grip, sending it skittering across the floorboards. David mounted him instantly, his left forearm pinning Briggs’s throat against the broken two-by-four studs of the wall.
""Where is the offshore account, Briggs?"" David whispered, his face inches from the detective’s gasping mouth. ""Where did Sarah send the trust documents?""
""Go... to hell..."" Briggs choked out, clawing desperately at David’s iron forearms.
David didn't argue. He shifted his grip, driving a savage short-hook punch directly into Briggs’s jaw. The bone gave way with a sickening crunch. Briggs’s eyes rolled back into his head, his body going limp as unconsciousness took him.
David rose, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, and turned toward Mark Vance.
The crime boss was cowering in the corner behind his mahogany desk, his broken ribs screaming in agony with every ragged breath. He had dropped the duffel bag. In his trembling hands, he held a small, silver .38 revolver, its barrel shaking uncontrollably as he aimed it at the soldier.
""Stay back, Dave! I swear to God, I'll pull the trigger!"" Vance screamed, his voice pitching into a hysterical shriek that echoed the very terror he had inflicted on an innocent seven-year-old girl hours earlier. ""I’m Sarah’s brother! I’m Lily’s family!""
""You're not family,"" David said, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the trembling muzzle. ""You're a parasite who preyed on a child's trust.""
""I'll give you the money! All of it! Three million dollars in the account, Dave! Just let me walk to my car!""
""You raised a club to my daughter,"" David said, his voice so quiet it sounded like death itself stepping into the room. ""You made her beg for her life on cold concrete.""
Vance pulled the trigger.
The hammer fell on an empty cylinder—Vance had forgotten that he had emptied the revolver at the shooting range earlier that morning and never reloaded the display piece. The sharp click sounded like a death knell in the quiet office.
David closed the distance in a blur. He clamped his hand over the cylinder of the gun, twisting it violently until Vance’s fingers broke with an audible snap. Vance shrieked, falling to his knees as David tossed the useless weapon out the shattered window.
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David seized Vance by the collar of his expensive designer shirt, hauling him up until their eyes were level.
""Look at me, Mark,"" David growled. ""Look at the man who is going to dismantle everything you ever built.""
