Chapter 7 - THE CRUCIBLE OF FLAME
The steel tire iron struck Marcus Kane’s shoulder with a sickening crunch. The heavy man cried out in pain, dropping the canister of solvent as he stumbled sideways into a stack of wooden crates.
“Grant!” Laura gasped, her eyes wide with feverish disbelief.
Marcus recovered with terrifying speed. Roaring in fury, he drew a hunting knife from his belt and slashed wildly at Grant’s face. Grant ducked, feeling the blade graze the collar of his coat, and drove his shoulder into Marcus’s midsection, slamming the larger man against the concrete wall.
They crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Marcus dropped the knife, but his thick fingers closed around Grant’s throat, pressing his thumbs into Grant’s windpipe with bone-crushing force.
“You should have let Julian buy you out, Holloway!” Marcus wheezed, spit flying from his lips as his eyes bulged with murderous frenzy. “You think you’re better than us? You’re just a spoiled prince who inherited everything! We built that harbor!”
Grant’s vision began to tunnel. Black spots danced before his eyes as the oxygen was choked from his brain. He clawed at Marcus’s wrists, but the man’s grip was iron. Grant’s foot scraped against the floor, his boot catching the discarded flare gun lying in the dirt near the overturned solvent canister.
Gathering every ounce of remaining strength, Grant swung his leg around, kicked the flare gun upward toward his right hand, caught the grip, and shoved the heavy metal barrel directly against Marcus’s ribs.
“Get off me,” Grant choked out.
Marcus froze, looking down at the heavy orange muzzle pressed against his side. Slowly, the murderous rage in his eyes gave way to sheer terror. He released his grip on Grant’s throat and raised his hands, panting heavily.
“Back away,” Grant commanded, coughing violently as air rushed back into his bruised lungs. He climbed to his feet, keeping the flare gun leveled at Marcus’s chest. “Kick the knife away. Now!”
Marcus did as he was told, sliding the hunting knife across the floor.
Grant reached into his pocket, retrieved his pocketknife, and stepped behind Laura, slicing through the heavy zip-ties around her wrists. Laura collapsed forward, exhausted, and Grant caught her gently, supporting her weight with one arm while keeping the flare gun trained on Marcus.
“You’re too late, Grant,” Marcus breathed, a twisted grin breaking through his bloody teeth. “Julian isn't at the hotel anymore. The second the SLED agents showed up, his personal helicopter was scheduled to pick him up from the rooftop pad. He’s taking the offshore bearer bonds and fleeing to a non-extradition country. By tonight, the Sterling accounts will be drained clean from a server in Zurich. You saved the girl, but you lost your empire.”
Sirens began to wail in the distance, growing louder as state police cruisers and federal interceptor units converged on Pier 19. Marcus knew his escape was cut off, but the smug satisfaction on his face revealed the truth of his words: Julian had played the ultimate escape gambit.
Laura grabbed Grant’s lapel, her voice desperate. “Grant… Julian has the primary ledger keys on a physical hardware token in his briefcase. If he gets on that chopper, you will be held personally liable for fifty million dollars in phantom municipal bonds. He framed you as the ultimate beneficiary!”
Grant looked at Laura, seeing the fierce, unbreakable spirit that had kept her alive for two agonizing years in hiding. Then he heard the distant, thumping rhythm of helicopter rotor blades cutting through the rainy sky back toward the harbor.
The police cruisers burst through the warehouse doors, their high-beam headlights blinding the darkness as tactical officers flooded the building.
“Secure this man!” Grant shouted to the entering officers, handing Laura over to a paramedic who ran in with an emergency blanket.
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“Grant, where are you going?” Laura cried out.
“To finish this,” Grant answered. “Stay with the doctors. I’m bringing Mia home.”
