Chapter 9 - VOICES IN THE GALE
"Shoot me," Celeste said, stepping forward without a shred of fear. "Every camera on this tower is livestreaming your face to twenty million people right now. Kill me, and you only guarantee your own execution."
Thorne’s hands shook as the reality of his total annihilation set in. The sound of sirens—hundreds of them—began to rise from the streets below, cutting through the rain. The federal authorities, having received the unredacted cryptographic evidence, were sealing off the perimeter.
"If I go down," Thorne snarled, his sanity snapping, "I’m taking everything you love with me."
He lunged toward Celeste, grabbing her by the throat and forcing her toward the unprotected ledge of the helipad. The wind howled around them, eighty stories of sheer drop waiting in the blackness below.
Celeste fought back with savage fury, clawing at his face, but Thorne's physical strength overpowered her. Her heels slipped over the wet edge, the dizzying abyss yawning beneath her back.
"Say goodbye to your empire, Celeste," Thorne hissed.
BANG.
A shot rang out across the rooftop. Thorne’s right shoulder shattered under the impact. He stumbled backward with a shriek of pain, releasing his grip on Celeste.
Celeste fell back onto the safety of the helipad deck, coughing and gasping for air.
Through the rain and mist, three figures stepped out from the rooftop access doorway.
Caleb stood with a smoking sidearm, his arm steady. And standing beside him, supporting each other with locked arms and trembling but unyielding legs, were Ivy and Esme.
Their ivory-blue birthday dresses were stained with mud, soot, and rain. Their hair was wild in the wind. But they stood tall, upright, on their own feet, under the open sky.
"Mom!" both girls cried out, taking awkward, glorious steps across the wet roof toward her.
Thorne looked at the two girls standing before him as if looking at ghosts rising from the grave. "No... it's impossible... the nerve damage was total..."
"My father built us to last," Ivy said, her eyes blazing with triumphant pride.
May you like
Federal tactical helicopters descended from the low clouds, their blinding searchlights pinning Thorne to the ground like a trapped insect. Heavily armed federal agents swarmed the rooftop from the stairwells, tackling Thorne to the asphalt and pinning his arms behind his back.
As the handcuffs clicked into place, Victor Thorne's empire of deceit vanished into the cold night rain.
