CHAPTER 5
The interior of the shipping warehouse was massive, echoing with the metallic clanging of heavy machinery and the low hum of industrial generators. Armed guards patrolling the catwalks high above observed our every move as two thugs escorted Ashford and me toward a converted glass-walled office overlooking the floor.
Inside the office, sitting behind a polished mahogany desk amidst crates of illegal contraband, was Victor Moretti.
He was a man in his late fifties, with slicked-back gray hair, a predatory smile, and cold, reptilian eyes. Sitting bound to a chair in the corner of the room was a young woman with bruised arms and tear-stained cheeks—Clara Russo, Gerald's daughter.
"Ah, the good Doctor," Victor purred, standing up and opening his arms in a fake welcoming gesture. "And you brought a lovely assistant. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten our appointment, Trevor."
"There were... complications with the dosage," Ashford stammered, trying desperately to keep his voice steady as I stood half a step behind him, holding the heavy aluminum medical case. "The Coleman boys showed unexpected resistance. But the toxin has finally reached critical systemic failure."
Victor’s eyes lit up with malicious delight. "So Nathan Coleman is watching his legacy crumble? Excellent. Is it done?"
"The data is on this drive," Ashford said, pulling a thumb drive from his pocket and laying it on the desk. "Full organ failure will occur within twenty-four hours. Nathan is entirely incapacitated by grief. His security detail is in total disarray."
Victor picked up the flash drive, swirling it between his fingers like a prized coin. "Magnificent. Absolutely magnificent. With Nathan broken, the Coleman empire falls into my lap like ripe fruit."
He turned his gaze toward Clara, smiling cruelly. "Which means I no longer have any use for bargaining chips."
Victor casually pulled a suppressed pistol from his leather shoulder holster and leveled it directly at Clara’s head.
"No!" Ashford gasped.
In a split second, instinct took over. I didn't hesitate. I slammed the heavy aluminum medical case hard into the face of the guard standing beside me, the sharp metal corner breaking his nose with a loud crunch. Before he could recover, I grabbed his tactical belt, wrenched his sidearm from its holster, and fired two precise shots into the chest of the second guard before he could raise his rifle.
Thump! Thump!
Victor spun around in absolute shock, raising his gun toward me. But I was already moving. I lunged across the desk, grabbing Victor’s wrist and driving my elbow hard into his windpipe. He gagged, dropping the pistol. I swept his legs out from under him, slamming him face-first onto the desk and pinning his arm behind his back in a bone-snapping lock.
Dr. Ashford screamed, dropping to his knees and covering his head in terror.
"Clara! Move!" I shouted, flipping open the medical briefcase on the desk, pressing a red toggle switch on a modified wireless transmitter inside, and slamming it down.
Instantly, the warehouse's automated fire suppression and security system violently glitched. The electronic locks on the main perimeter gates shattered open, and bright strobe emergency lights began flashing, blinding the guards on the catwalks outside.
BOOM!
The heavy steel loading bay doors at the end of the warehouse were blown off their hinges in a deafening explosion of sparks and twisted metal. Two armored tactical vehicles roared through the opening, headlights blinding the chaotic warehouse.
Nathan Coleman stepped out from the lead vehicle, clad in dark tactical gear, holding a rifle, his eyes radiating a terrifying, vengeful fury. Behind him, dozens of Coleman enforcement officers flooded the building, completely overwhelming Moretti's disoriented guards in a matter of seconds.
Nathan marched up the stairs to the office, his boots crushing shattered glass. He breached the office door, his weapon raised, only to find the scene already under control: two guards incapacitated on the floor, Ashford cowering in the corner, Clara safe, and me kneeling on Victor Moretti’s back, pressing his own gun against the back of his neck.
Nathan stopped in his tracks, looking at the scene, a mix of absolute shock and breathless awe washing over his face.
"You're late, Nathan," I said smoothly, offering him a faint, dry smile.
Nathan let out a low, breathless laugh, lowering his weapon as his men secured Victor and rushed to untie Clara. He stepped up to me, pulling me up by my hands and checking me over with frantic, tender urgency.
"Are you hurt? Did he touch you?" Nathan asked, his hands sliding to my shoulders, his eyes searching mine deeply.
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"I'm completely fine," I reassured him softly.
Unable to contain himself any longer, Nathan pulled me into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around me in a fiercely tight embrace. "God, Sarah," he breathed into my hair, his heart pounding wildly against my cheek. "You are an absolute miracle."
