The Ghost of the Past
The Ghost of the Past
Though Julian was locked inside a detention facility and Patricia was awaiting her formal trial date, a dangerous shadow still lingered around the perimeter of our Aspen estate. It was the mercenary—a former black-ops asset Julian had personally hired to execute his wetwork.
During a severe midnight blizzard, the outer thermal sensors of the estate suddenly went offline. Monitoring the high-resolution infrared feed from the security room, I tracked a single dark figure moving with professional precision through the pine trees, heading straight for the rear terrace of Claire’s bedroom wing.
I didn't call the local authorities; they were far too slow for this kind of threat.
I threw on a heavy black tactical coat and stepped out onto the upper balcony, my Sig Sauer already chambered. I had spent fifteen years operating within clandestine government operations before I ever assumed control of the family corporation, and predators in the dark were a language I spoke fluently.
The moment the operative's gloved hand touched the glass handle of the sliding door, the barrel of my weapon was pressed firmly against the base of his skull.
"Move a single millimeter, and I’ll leave you under this snow drift until the spring thaw," I said, my voice cutting cleanly through the howling mountain wind.
The figure went completely still, his hands slowly rising to his shoulders. He was a professional; he knew exactly when he had walked into the trap of an apex predator.
"How much did Julian transfer you?" I asked.
May you like
"Half a million," he rasped, his breath fogging in the freezing air. "But the routing source went dark this morning."
"I’ll wire you one million," I said, lowering the weapon slightly but keeping my sights locked onto his center mass. "On the condition that you walk into that federal courtroom tomorrow morning and tell the bồi thẩm đoàn exactly what instructions Julian Reed gave you regarding my daughter."
