Chapter 9 - The Tape That Shattered Everything
The rain beat down mercilessly on the concrete pier as I kicked open the van door and stepped out into the storm.
I didn't cower. I didn't hide.
I held Leo tightly against my chest, wrapped in a heavy waterproof jacket. Behind me, Arthur and Dave stepped onto the wet asphalt, their weapons held at low-ready, their eyes scanning the yacht’s deck for snipers.
Beatrice turned. When she saw me—standing tall, unbroken, with Leo alive and breathing in my arms—the icy aristocratic poise she had worn her entire life completely shattered.
"Mariana," Beatrice gasped, her voice trembling with disbelief and fury. "Where is Ryan?! What have you done with my son?!"
"Ryan is in handcuffs in Bel-Air, Beatrice," I said, my voice carrying over the roar of the yacht's diesel engines and the distant crackle of FBI gunfire down the terminal. "He confessed to everything. He gave us the safe. He gave us the ledger. He gave us you."
Beatrice took a step back, her expensive heels clicking against the wet timber of the pier. Her bodyguards reached for their waistbands, but Arthur leveled his shotgun directly at their chests.
"Touch leather," Arthur snarled, "and you go into the harbor in pieces."
The bodyguards froze. They looked at the FBI sirens closing in from the main gate, looked at Arthur’s cold, dead eyes, and slowly raised their hands, stepping away from Beatrice.
"Cowards!" Beatrice screamed at them, her mask of Boston elegance slipping away into the hysterical rage of a cornered predator. She turned back to me, her eyes wild, her knuckles white as she clutched the cooler. "You foolish, pathetic girl! Do you have any idea what you've ruined?! Marcus Sterling was going to clear forty million dollars of debt! He was going to give Vance Dynamics the global distribution rights for his entire pharmaceutical empire! We were going to be untouchable!"
"You were going to butcher your own grandson," I shouted, the rage that had been building inside me for twelve hours exploding like a volcano. "You drugged him in his crib! You treated him like a piece of meat to save your failing family name!"
"He is a Vance!" Beatrice shrieked, rain plastering her silver hair across her face. "His blood belongs to this family! His genetics belong to ME! He was going to save an empire!"
"He doesn't belong to your empire, Beatrice," a frail, raspy voice called out from the top of the yacht’s gangway.
Everyone looked up.
Standing on the deck, supported by two private nurses and hooked to a mobile IV pole, was Marcus Sterling.
The billionaire looked like a living corpse. His skin was translucent and yellowed with jaundice; his cheeks were sunken, his bald scalp covered in liver spots. He stared down at Beatrice with eyes that were hollow, exhausted, and devoid of hope.
"Marcus!" Beatrice cried, reaching out toward the ship. "The child is here! Julian’s protocol is ready! We can board the vessel right now!"
Sterling looked at Beatrice, then looked down at me and the baby cradled in my arms.
"The FBI has already seized the yacht's satellite communications, Beatrice," Sterling wheezed, his voice pathetic and weak against the wind. "The US Attorney in Los Angeles has unsealed an indictment against my foundation for human trafficking and criminal conspiracy. It's over. The vessel is under federal seizure."
"No!" Beatrice screamed, falling to her knees on the wet wood of the pier. "No! You promised me! You promised the money!"
Sterling turned away, being wheeled back into the warmth of the cabin by his nurses as federal agents boarded the yacht from the stern.
Special Agent Ramirez stepped onto the pier, flanked by four tactical agents with carbines raised.
"Beatrice Vance," Ramirez announced, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit kidnapping, human trafficking, and attempted murder of a minor. You have the right to remain silent."
Beatrice didn't move. She stared at the puddles of harbor water, her mouth open in a silent, horrified gasp as the steel cuffs ratcheted around her wrists.
As they hauled her past me toward the waiting patrol cars, she looked at Leo.
Leo didn't cry. He looked at her with wide, innocent brown eyes, then turned his head away, burying his face into my chest, seeking the warmth of his mother.
"He was just a baby, Beatrice," I whispered as she passed. "And you will die in a cell for what you tried to do to him."
May you like
She didn't answer. She was shoved into the back of the cruiser, the door slammed shut, and the red strobes washed over the rain as the convoy rolled away.
***
