“Pick it up and put it to your head,” Cassian commands, a terrifying snarl vibrating in the quiet room. “Pull the trigger, William. Or I blow your spine out right now, and you spend the rest of your pathetic life paralyzed in a federal supermax, shitting through a plastic tube while the world dissects your ruined legacy. Your choice.”
My father shakes violently. Real tears spill from his eyes, mixing with the dark blood on his face. He studies the silver revolver. He confronts the inevitable, catastrophic ruin of everything he built. With a trembling, defeated hand, he picks up the gun and raises the barrel to his own silver temple.
He looks at Cassian. He looks at me. He sees no hesitation. He sees no salvation. He sees only the monsters he created, standing over him in the dark to collect the debt.
He realizes there’s no way out. The legacy is dead. His life is over.
Judge William Hale squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a pathetic, broken sob.
His finger twitches on the trigger.
BANG.
The gunshot is deafening, but the doors and the thick acoustic paneling of the VIP study swallow the blast, burying his final secret in the dark.
My father’s body slumps sideways, hitting the marble floor with a final thud. The silver revolver clatters out of his hand, skidding across the bloodstained rug.
The room is completely silent.
I stand, my hands loose at my sides, looking down at the body of the man who ruled my entire life. I wait for the guilt to hit me. I wait for the crushing grief. I wait for the emotional collapse he always told me I would have.
Nothing comes. I just feel beautifully light.
Cassian steps carefully over the body. He walks around the desk and comes directly to me. He reaches out, his right hand cupping my face, his thumb wiping away a stray speck of blood from my cheek.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his dark eyes searching mine with fierce, protective intensity.
I look up at the man who kidnapped me. The man who bled for me. The man who handed me the keys to freedom.
“I’m perfect,” I say.
He crouches next to my father’s bleeding body, reaches into the bespoke overcoat, and pulls out the Judge’s encrypted cell phone. He crushes the screen beneath the heel of his boot, picksup the shattered pieces, and slides them into his own pocket so Varro can completely scrub the digital trail.
I engage the safety on my gun, tuck it back into the waistband of my tactical pants, and step past him. Without a second glance, I step directly over my father’s bleeding body.
I walk out of the VIP study, and Cassian follows me into the dark.
30
CASSIAN
I watch her walk away from the wreckage of her life.
She steps directly over the bleeding body of William Hale without a single flinch. I don’t look down at him, either. The monster who pulled my strings for five years is finally dead, and he isn’t worth another second of our time.
I tap my earpiece. “Cleaners. The floor is yours.”
Two men from Team 6 slip through the doors seconds later, carrying heavy duffel bags. I stay long enough to watch them begin the erasure. I already staged the revolver, so they focus on the rest: wiping our secondary prints, processing the two dead cops, and ensuring the forensics will tell the exact story I dictated—a disgraced Judge who took his own life after a botched hit.
The sharp, chemical scent of bleach hits the air, cutting through the cordite. To the world, Hale was a giant.
To my men, he is a work order.
“Perimeter collapses in three minutes, Boss,” Varro’s voice crackles in my ear. “The guards in the East Wing are still looped, but the night shift is starting their rotation.”
“Intercept the two watchmen in the East Wing before the sirens start,” I command. “They saw Iris. They compromise her alibi.”
“The digital loop is running?” I ask.
