Chapter 7 - The Final Gambit
By dawn, the federal authorities and local state police had taken custody of the captured hitmen. Under intense interrogation by federal prosecutors, the two operatives quickly confessed to the entire plot: Arthur Sullivan had paid them a quarter-million dollars in untraceable cryptocurrency to eliminate both me and Brennan Hayes in a staged "home invasion gone wrong."
Armed with the recorded confessions and the digital wallet transaction receipts, Judge Sterling issued immediate, unbailable arrest warrants for Arthur Sullivan and Gregory Finch on charges of solicitation of murder, conspiracy, and racketeering.
We didn't wait for the police to go looking for Arthur. We led the federal marshals straight to him.
The luxury downtown hotel where Arthur had been hiding was surrounded by three unmarked federal vehicles and a convoy of Brennan’s tactical SUVs before the sun had fully cleared the horizon.
I sat in the backseat of Brennan’s vehicle alongside Marcus Vance as we watched the hotel’s glass revolving doors.
“They have him cornered on the fourteenth floor penthouse suite,” Marcus reported, listening to an earpiece radio feed. “Local SWAT is assisting federal agents. No way out.”
A few minutes later, the glass doors pushed open.
Two federal marshals emerged, dragging Arthur Sullivan between them. He looked utterly destroyed. His expensive suit was wrinkled, his hair disheveled, and his face twisted in a mask of impotent rage and sheer terror. As the morning sunlight hit his eyes, he caught sight of our vehicle parked directly in front of the steps.
He stopped struggling, staring through the tinted window straight at me.
Without hesitation, I pushed the car door open and stepped out onto the pavement.
The morning air was crisp and clean. I wore the same tailored black pantsuit I had worn into the courtroom, my head held high, my posture unyielding.
Arthur wrenched himself away from a marshal for a fraction of a second, his voice cracking hysterically across the pavement.
“You can't do this!” Arthur screamed, pointing a shaking finger at me. “I am Arthur Sullivan! I built this city! You are nothing! A nobody nurse from a charity ward!”
I stopped three feet away from him. I didn't yell. I didn't gloat. I simply looked at him with the cold, absolute clarity of a woman who had survived the worst he could possibly inflict.
“You're right, Arthur,” I said softly, my voice carrying clearly in the morning quiet. “I started as a nurse in a charity ward. And you started as a king. But dynasties built on lies always fall.”
Brennan stepped up beside me, resting his hand lightly on my shoulder.
May you like
Arthur looked at Brennan, then back at me, the final remnants of his arrogant illusion completely shattering. The marshals shoved him into the back of a waiting police cruiser, slamming the heavy door shut with a metallic finality.
The Sullivan empire was officially dead.
