Chapter 9: The Confrontation at the Dining Room
The flashing blue utility lines of the local tactical unit illuminated the frosted window panes of the dining room at 9:00 PM on Thursday evening.
Andrew Mercer stood paralyzed near the head of the mahogany table, his tuxedo collar unbuttoned, his face a pale, broken mask of absolute shock. Sabrina was collapsed on the leather sofa, her silk dress rumpled, her fingers violently clutching a phone that was displaying an irreversible federal freeze warning across her entire capital profile.
Two uniformed state marshals stood inside the doorway, their hands flat against their utility belts. Behind them, Eleanor Vance walked past the bar holding a sealed steel evidence box.
"The extraction is complete, Andrew," I said, stepping into the space from the hallway corridor, my tailored wool coat draped neatly over my arm, my ice-blue eyes locking onto his shaking frame. "Vanguard's audit detail logged the biometric and audio recordings with the district attorney at six o'clock. The state police have verified the cryptographic certificate logs siphoned from my personal vault the night of the fire."
Andrew staggered backward against the high-backed dining chair, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that barely cleared his teeth. "Vivienne... please... the children... we can restructuring the asset allocation lines out of court..."
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"The balance sheet is permanently closed, Andrew," I replied quietly, pointing a calm finger at the door. "Take them down."
The steel links clicked loudly around his wrists before he could make a single movement, the uniform officers moving him cleanly out of the residential perimeter. The transaction was closed.
