Chapter 15 - Crown of Iron
Marcus Blackwood raised a hand, silencing Richard with an icy glare. ""Drop the weapon, girl. Or Richard empties his magazine into Edward's head.""
Clara slowly lowered the gun, her mind racing. ""You killed my father, didn't you, Blackwood?""
""Arthur Vance was stubborn,"" Blackwood said dismissively. ""He wanted to distribute his peptide cure for neuro-degenerative disease at cost to public clinics. We couldn't allow billions in profit to vanish for sentimentality. Your father had to disappear.""
""And Edward?"" Clara demanded, keeping Blackwood’s attention squarely on her while she subtly shifted her foot toward the severed electrical cable dangling from the shattered wall.
""Edward was digging into the old records,"" Blackwood replied. ""A nuisance that should have died in the car crash. But now, both heirs are in the same room. Once you die here, the state takes the patents, and my shell corporation buys them for pennies.""
""Not today,"" Edward whispered from the floor.
Clara slammed her heel down onto the exposed 440-volt conduit wire, kicking it straight into the puddle of saltwater flooding from the breached cooling pipe beneath Blackwood's boots.
A blinding arc of blue electricity detonated across the floor.
Blackwood shrieked in agony as thousands of volts surged through his body, collapsing him instantly into convulsions. Richard jumped backward in terror, spraying bullets blindly into the ceiling plaster.
Sean lunged from the shadows, tackling Richard into the concrete wall with bone-shattering force. The submachine gun clattered harmlessly away. With two brutal blows, Sean rendered Richard limp and unconscious.
Silence fell over the room, save for the hum of dying transformers and the distant sound of the Pacific surf.
Edward struggled to his feet. Clara threw her arms around him, steadying his battered frame against her chest.
""Is it over?"" she breathed into his neck.
Edward looked at the unconscious men on the floor, then down at the wedding band resting securely on his finger. He cupped her face with his bloodied hand and kissed her—a fierce, desperate kiss that tasted of smoke, salt, and victory.
""It's over,"" Edward murmured against her lips. ""Tomorrow, we take back our company. Together.""
Two weeks later, at the gleaming glass tower of Kane-Vance Global in downtown Manhattan, hundreds of reporters and flashbulbs lined the grand rotunda.
Clara walked down the marble steps in an emerald silk gown, radiant, poised, and unshakeable. Beside her walked Edward, towering and whole, holding her hand for the entire world to see.
From the back of the media crowd, an envelope was discreetly slipped into Clara's coat pocket by a passing courier.
May you like
As the limousine pulled away, Clara opened the wax-sealed letter. Inside was a handwritten note in handwriting she hadn't seen since childhood:
Clara, my brave girl. The war isn't over. They think I'm dead, too. Find me in Geneva. — Dad."
