Chapter 6 - THE MAN IN ROOM 412
“Step inside and close the door,” Marcus Vance ordered.
Julian, Thomas, and I stepped into the ruined office. Julian pulled the shattered door shut as best he could.
Celeste was trembling. She held a stack of bearer bonds in her shaking hands.
“Marcus, please,” she begged. “I got you the safe room. I protected you.”
“You protected your own wallet, sweetheart,” Vance sneered. He looked at Julian. “Your little fiancée tipped me off that the walls were closing in. She was going to take the offshore codes and leave me for the feds.”
I couldn't take my eyes off Vance's hand.
“Where did you get that ring?” I demanded.
Vance glanced down at his pinky. “This? It was a souvenir. Ten years ago, a pesky maintenance worker overheard a conversation he shouldn't have. He thought he could outsmart the Chicago syndicate.”
My blood ran completely cold.
It hadn't just been the hospital board. Dr. Evans hadn't acted alone. Marcus Vance was the one pulling the strings a decade ago.
“You killed David,” I whispered.
“I ordered it,” Vance corrected lazily. “Evans administered the potassium chloride. A flawless heart attack.”
Thomas leaned heavily on his cane, moving slightly to position himself between Vance and his son.
“You're trapped, Vance,” Thomas said, his voice calm. “The FBI is already on their way. Julian gave them the ledger.”
Vance laughed. “The FBI works for whoever pays them the most, old man. And with these bearer bonds, I’ll buy a new life in Geneva by morning.”
He snatched the bonds from Celeste's hands.
Then he raised his gun and pointed it directly at Julian’s chest.
“Nothing personal, kid,” Vance said. “But an heir makes for a great hostage on the way to the helipad.”
Before Vance could pull the trigger, Celeste did something I never expected.
She slammed her stiletto heel backward into Vance’s knee.
Vance roared in pain, his leg buckling. The gun went off, the bullet shattering the glass window overlooking the atrium.
Julian tackled Vance to the floor. The two men struggled over the weapon, crashing into the heavy mahogany desk.
Thomas swung his cane, striking Vance across the wrist. The gun skittered across the floor, sliding perfectly to a stop at my feet.
I picked it up. It was heavy and cold.
I pointed it at Marcus Vance.
Vance stopped struggling. He looked up at me, a fifty-nine-year-old nurse holding a loaded weapon.
“You don't have the nerve, Helen,” Vance panted, blood dripping from his nose.
“You murdered my husband,” I said, my voice eerily steady. “You stole ten years of my life. You put elderly patients in a basement to die.”
I cocked the hammer back.
“Helen, no!” Thomas yelled.
May you like
I looked at Thomas. Then I looked down at the ring on Vance's finger.
I lowered the barrel, aiming away from his chest, and pulled the trigger.
