Chapter 7 - The Battle for the Lake
The black SUV was parked at the end of the gravel driveway when I arrived. Its headlights were off, its engine idling with a low, menacing purr.
I didn't slow down. I accelerated, driving my heavy tactical truck directly into the side of the SUV with a deafening crunch of metal and shattering glass. The impact deployed my airbags, but I was already moving, cutting through the deflating nylon with my combat knife and rolling out of the driver-side door before the dust could settle.
Two men in tactical gear scrambled out of the ruined SUV, coughing from the smoke. They were professional—holding suppressed submachine guns—but they weren't prepared for a man who treated a driveway like a hot drop zone.
I fired three rounds from my Glock before they could raise their weapons. The first man dropped instantly, the rounds striking his center mass. The second man dove for cover behind the hood of the SUV, returning fire. Bullets snapped through the air, punching holes into the bodywork of my truck.
"Marcus!" I shouted, keeping my head low. "Flank right!"
A sharp, synchronized burst of gunfire echoed from the tree line. Marcus had shifted position, moving out of the house to secure the perimeter. His rounds caught the second gunman from the side, dropping him into the gravel.
Silence returned to the woods, broken only by the ticking of the hot engines and the lapping of the lake water against the shore.
I moved up to the house, my weapon raised, clearing the porch. Marcus stepped out from behind a large oak tree, his rifle lowered but his eyes alert.
"They were advanced scouts," Marcus said, checking the pulse of the fallen men. "Professional mercs. Sterling’s private security detail, most likely."
"Emma?" I asked, my heart pounding.
"She’s safe. In the basement box. She didn't see a thing," Marcus reassured me, wiping sweat from his brow.
I walked down into the dark basement, unlocking the heavy reinforced door of the storage room we had converted into a temporary safe room. Emma was sitting on a wooden crate, holding her tablet tightly against her chest. When she saw me, her entire body relaxed, the tension draining from her shoulders.
I knelt in front of her, taking her hands. "They're gone, baby. You're safe."
She typed quickly into the tablet. "It’s him, isn't it? The man from the ledger. Victor Sterling."
"Yes," I said, not lying to her anymore. "He tried to protect Lena and Grant by clearing the evidence. But I found the connection. I have the proof that links him to the money, the judge, and the attack on you."
Emma looked at the screen, then looked at me, her eyes flashing with her mother’s fierce determination. She typed again.
"Don't let him hide behind his money, Dad. Finish it."
I looked at Marcus, who had followed me down the stairs. He gave me a slow nod. He knew what needed to be done. We had the evidence, but if we handed it over to the local system, Judge Abernathy would find a way to suppress it or delay the warrants until Sterling could flee the country on his private jet.
We needed to force the system's hand. We needed to make the evidence public, un-erasable, and loud enough that even a corrupted judge couldn't ignore it.
"Marcus, take Emma to the federal courthouse in Chicago," I ordered. "Deliver her directly to Assistant U.S. Attorney Vance. The state police are compromised, but the feds are clean. Show them the ledger I took from Vance’s office."
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"What about you, Daniel?" Marcus asked.
"I’m going to pay a visit to Victor Sterling’s charity gala," I said, a dark smile touching my lips. "He’s hosting a fundraiser tonight at the Grand Plaza Hotel. It’s time to give him a real donation."
