Chapter 8 - The Shadow in the Chamber
The figure standing in the dim light of the judicial private chamber wasn't a tactical officer. He wore an expensive Italian cashmere trench coat, entirely out of place in the blood-scented dust of the courtroom. His dark hair was slicked back, his sharp features mocking and handsome.
Vincent Davenport.
He held a silenced semi-automatic pistol leveled straight at Clara’s forehead. The red suppression light from the barrel gleamed on Clara’s pale skin.
""Hello, Judge Vance,"" Vincent said smoothly, his European accent cultured and dead. ""You certainly know how to cause a scene.""
Behind her, Miller was still pinned by sniper suppression, unable to see into the private hallway. Julian lay trembling behind the jury box, and Eleanor was curled in a fetal position. Clara stood entirely alone, facing the man who had ordered her execution twice in a single afternoon.
She didn't raise her hands. She stood tall, wiping the blood from her lip with the back of her sleeve.
""You're sloppy, Vincent,"" Clara said evenly, her voice dropping into a dangerous monotone. ""A sniper on the clock tower? A hired street thug in the stairwell? Your father at least had the intelligence to make his murders look like natural causes.""
Vincent’s finger tightened on the trigger. A cruel smile touched his lips. ""My father was weak. He cared about reputations. I care about results. The sixty million dollars in the Zurich accounts transfer to my blind trust in fifteen minutes. Once you and Julian are dead, the assets remain uncontested.""
""And your mother?"" Clara asked, gesturing subtly toward the courtroom behind her. ""You left her out there to catch a stray bullet.""
Vincent scoffed, his eyes flickering with utter sociopathy. ""Mother is an old relic. Her arrest would have frozen the family assets anyway. She is an acceptable casualty.""
From beneath the defense table, Eleanor’s breath hitched. She had heard every word through the open doorway. The son she had protected, the boy she had committed murder for, had just written her death warrant.
""You won't make it to the parking garage,"" Clara warned. ""The perimeter is sealed.""
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""I have a judicial security pass,"" Vincent whispered, tapping his coat pocket. ""Yours, actually. Gable stole it from your purse during your little scuffle in the stairs.""
Cliffhanger: Vincent pulled back the hammer of his gun, but before he could fire, Eleanor Davenport rose from the rubble like a vengeful ghost, clutching a jagged shard of broken water carafe.
