Chapter 10 - The Trap Springs Open
The bright beams of the tactical flashlights felt like physical blows against my eyes, blinding me as the armed operatives closed in, tightening the circle around Catherine and me.
"Step away from the stone, Claire," Marcus ordered, stopping a few paces away with his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. "It's over. You can't outrun a corporation that owns half the judges in this state."
I stood frozen beside my aunt, my fingers curling tightly around the edge of the stone marker.
Catherine didn't flinch.
She didn't scream, nor did she cower.
Instead, a cold, calculated smile touched the corners of her lips as she looked directly at Marcus.
"You always were an ambitious lapdog, Marcus," Catherine said calmly, her voice carrying a chilling ring of authority. "Did Richard promise you an executive seat on the board? Or just enough hush money to pay off your gambling debts?"
Marcus’s smug smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he quickly recovered his composure.
"Save your breath, Catherine. You've been legally dead for thirty years. Your testimony holds zero weight in a court of law."
"She doesn't need to testify in a courtroom, Marcus," I spoke up, stepping out from the shadow of the weeping willow, holding the titanium flash drive and the manila envelope high in the air. "Because everything you and Richard tried to bury has already been uploaded to a decentralized, encrypted server timed to release public files the moment my biometric authentication stops pinging every six hours."
Marcus’s face drained of color instantly.
"You're bluffing," he stammered, taking a nervous step forward. "Give me the drive, Claire. Don't be stupid."
"Try me," I whispered fiercely. "Take one more step, and the entire world finds out how Richard Vance bought his empire with family blood."
Before Marcus could lunge forward, the night air was suddenly shattered by a completely unexpected sound.
The wail of half a dozen police sirens—not corporate security, but actual Chicago Police Department cruisers—screeched through the cemetery gates, their flashing red and blue lights painting the marble headstones in a chaotic dance.
"Federal agents! Drop your weapons! Hands where we can see them!" a booming megaphone command rang out from the front gates.
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The tactical operatives hired by Richard Vance froze, turning their heads in utter confusion as multiple police cruisers swarmed the perimeter, blocking the black sedans and cutting off their escape route.
Catherine smiled, lowering her umbrella.
