Chapter 5 - Confessions in the DarkRoman stepped smoothly in front of Clara, his body a solid wall blocking the line of fire, though his hands remained casually unslung at his sides.
"Put the gun down, Arthur," Roman said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "You’re thirty years too late. The federal warrants were a nice touch, but my compliance team flagged the forged signatures hours ago. You don't have enough leverage to sink me."
"I don't need to sink you, Roman!" Vance laughed, a manic edge sharpening his tone. He shifted the barrel of the gun slightly toward Clara. "I just need to burn the evidence that proves your father didn't kill Thomas Hayes. Once this ledger goes up in flames, the Hayes family legacy stays buried in the mud, and you take the fall for the federal wire fraud."
Clara’s blood ran cold. She stepped out from behind Roman’s shoulder, her eyes fixed on the ledger in Vance’s hand.
"My grandfather didn't write those fraudulent entries, did he?" Clara asked, her voice steady and sharp. "You forced him to falsify the dock records under threat of killing my mother and grandmother. And when he tried to back out, you framed him and made him disappear."
Vance’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "He was a weak, self-righteous fool, just like you."
"You arrogant bastard," Clara muttered.
In a movement so fast it defied calculation, Clara didn't pull a gun—she pulled the steak knife from her blazer pocket and hurled it across the narrow archive aisle.
It didn't hit Vance; it slammed directly into the wooden shelf right beside his hand, splintering the mahogany and startling him so violently his finger twitched on the trigger, sending a bullet harmlessly into the concrete ceiling.
Before Vance could recover his aim, Roman moved.
May you like
He crossed the room like a striking panther, grabbing Vance’s wrist and twisting it upward with brutal efficiency. The pistol clattered to the concrete floor. Roman slammed Vance against the steel shelving, his forearm pressed hard against the older man’s throat.
"You touch her," Roman whispered, his voice dangerously low, "and I won't let the federal marshals take you. I'll handle you personally."
