Chapter 8 - The Cornered Beast
“FBI! Drop the weapon!” Agent Vance shouted, drawing his sidearm instantaneously and taking cover behind the heavy oak desk. The three federal officers leveled their weapons directly at Julian’s chest.
The study echoed with the tense, sharp sounds of weapons being cocked.
Julian’s hands were shaking violently. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair matted against his forehead. The smooth, untouchable prince of New York real estate had been reduced to a frantic, cornered animal.
“Julian, put the gun down,” I said, stepping slowly from behind the desk into his line of sight.
His eyes locked onto me, burning with pure hatred. “You... you ruined everything, Elena! I gave you a seat at my family’s table! I was going to make you rich!”
“You were going to make me a prisoner!” I yelled over the sound of the rain hammering against the tall windows. “You built a shell company in my name to take the fall for your sixty-three-million-dollar theft! You put my license on a building that would have collapsed on innocent families!”
“Business is dirty!” Julian screamed, his arm trembling as he pointed the gun toward my chest. “Everyone cuts corners! Everyone steals! You were supposed to be my wife! You were supposed to stand by me!”
“I was supposed to protect people,” I said, taking a slow, deliberate step toward him. “That’s what an engineer does. We make sure the world doesn't fall down around the people who trust us. You don't build things, Julian. You’re a parasite living off your father’s name.”
“Shut up! Shut up!” he shrieked, his finger tightening on the trigger.
“Julian,” I said, my voice dropping into an icy calm. “Look around you. Look at this room. Your father is in a holding cell. Your mother is bankrupt. Your investors are suing you for every dollar you’ll ever earn. If you shoot me, you don't get your life back. You spend the rest of your natural life in a maximum-security prison.”
One of his bodyguards glanced at the federal agents, realized the hopelessness of the situation, and quietly raised his hands, stepping away from Julian.
“Boss,” the second bodyguard whispered, stepping back into the hallway. “Don't do it. It’s over.”
Julian looked at his bodyguard, then at the three federal lasers glowing red against his wet shirt.
The gun felt impossibly heavy in his trembling hand.
Slowly, the terror of his reality crushed whatever remaining arrogance he had left. His knees buckled, and he dropped the gun onto the oriental rug.
THUD.
Agent Vance lunged forward, kicking the weapon away and slamming Julian face-down onto the floor.
Julian wept hysterically into the carpet as the cold steel cuffs locked around his wrists for the second time in twenty-four hours.
“Julian Rutherford,” Vance growled into his ear. “You are under arrest for federal bank fraud, witness intimidation, and felony assault with a deadly weapon.”
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I picked up the red leather ledger from the open safe and walked past Julian as he lay weeping on the floor.
I didn't look back.
