Chapter 8: The Guard Takes Command
The lead syndicate operator sneered, his scarred face twisting into a sadistic, triumphant expression as he watched Frank Vance walk onto the dance floor. He waved his assault rifle, pointing it directly at Frank’s chest. "Step forward, Director! Drop the communication earpiece and slide the digital drive across the wood! If you make a single sudden movement, the bride’s dress turns red!"
The bride was sobbing hysterically, her veil torn, her hands shaking as she looked at Frank. The groom remained frozen beside her, his head pressed against the floorboards in pure cowardice.
Frank didn't look at the gun barrel. He walked calmly to the center of the dance floor, stopping exactly where Julian had slapped him across the face two hours ago. He looked around at the two hundred millionaires and politicians huddled beneath the tables, their expensive clothes covered in dust and spilled champagne.
"You're a long way from your home port, son," Frank said to the lead operator, his voice smooth and steady as ice. "The Alexandria Hotel is a federal compliance zone. By entering this facility with military-grade weapons, your organization has just activated the emergency domestic threat protocol."
"I don't care about your protocols, old man!" the operator roared, his finger tightening on the trigger. "The Director wants those files back! Hand them over, or we level this entire floor!"
"The Director is currently sitting in a private cell at the Hoover Building downtown, son," Frank said softly, pulling his smartphone from his pocket with his left hand. The screen displayed a live federal broadcast feed showing a massive raid unfolding at the syndicate's primary shipping terminal in New Jersey. "Our tactical teams breached your main warehouse twenty minutes ago. Your supply line is dead. Your bank accounts are frozen. You aren't getting paid for this hit."
The two secondary operators on the stage flinched, their eyes darting nervously toward each other as they saw the video feed on the phone screen. "Boss... the server log is flashing red! The offshore accounts are offline! He’s telling the truth!"
"Shut up! He's bluffing!" the lead operator screamed, panic finally breaking through his professional mask. He spun his weapon away from the bride, aiming it squarely between Frank’s eyes. "I’ll kill you myself, Vance!"
He never completed the movement.
Frank Vance didn't try to draw a gun; instead, he raised his right hand, holding the remote trigger device he had pulled from the catering cart downstairs. He pressed the red button.
BOOM!
The six massive crystal chandeliers hanging from the ballroom ceiling exploded into blue sparks simultaneously, shattered by a localized electromagnetic pulse charge Frank had installed before the wedding shift began. The entire grand ballroom was plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness, illuminated only by the faint silver moonlight streaming through the high arched windows.
Panic erupted immediately. Gowns rustled, glasses shattered, and wealthy guests began to scream in terror as they scrambled for the exits.
Pft. Pft. Pft.
Three suppressed gunshots echoed through the dark room, barely audible over the screaming. Frank moved through the green-tinted darkness of his own military instincts, his night-vision goggles slipping over his eyes in a fraction of a second. He fired three precise, controlled rounds through the smoke.
The three syndicate operators dropped to the stage floor instantly, shot accurately through their shoulders and hands, dropping their automatic weapons with loud metallic clangs. They shrieked in agony, clutching their wounds in the dark.
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The emergency battery lights clicked on a moment later, casting a pale, red glow over the devastation. Frank stood in the center of the stage, his suppressed pistol held low against his thigh, looking completely unaffected by the violence around him. He walked over to the wedding cake, picked up a clean silver fork, and took a small bite of the frosting.
"The catering is excellent, Thomas," Frank called out toward the catering entrance, where the Mayor and Julian were peeking through the glass panels. "Now, come out and help my staff clean up the ballroom. The federal marshals are at the gate."
