Chapter 8 - The Confrontation
Daniel didn't lower his gun. The barrel remained locked dead-center on his brother’s chest.
“You’re dead, David,” Daniel said, his voice shaking with a quiet, suppressed rage that threatened to tear him apart. “We buried you. Mother cried herself to sleep for three years. I blamed myself every single day for the argument we had on the cliff.”
David let out a dry, humorless chuckle, stepping down the last two iron steps. “Oh, please, Dan. Spare me the dramatic monologue. You didn't blame yourself for long. You inherited the entire empire, sat in the executive chair, and married Vanessa to keep up appearances.”
“Vanessa was your asset,” Marcus snapped, raising his shotgun slightly. “You planted her in his life.”
David glanced at Marcus, raising an eyebrow. “Ah, Marcus. Still acting like the loyal guard dog. Yes, Vanessa worked for me. She was supposed to infiltrate the board, acquire the voting proxies, and hand the company over to my shell corporation so I could reclaim my rightful throne without paying capital gains tax.” David smiled coldly. “Unfortunately, my dear fiancée got a little too greedy on her own accord and started stealing outside the parameters of our agreement.”
“You let us mourn you,” Daniel said, taking a slow step forward. “You let our family suffer while you lived like a ghost in a concrete tower plotting a corporate coup.”
“I left because father was going to cut me out of the trust entirely!” David shouted, his calm facade finally cracking, his voice echoing off the curved stone walls. “You were the golden boy, Dan! You could do no wrong! I had to fake my own death just to escape his shadow and build the capital I needed to take back what should have been mine from the start!”
David’s hand twitched toward his hip.
It happened in a fraction of a second.
David’s fingers dropped toward a hidden shoulder holster beneath his sweater.
Marcus reacted instantly, stepping forward and leveling his shotgun. But Daniel was faster. With cold, lethal precision, Daniel fired a single warning shot into the wooden floorboards inches from David’s boots.
CRACK.
Splinters flew into the air. David froze, his hand hovering over empty leather.
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“Don't do it, David,” Daniel said, his voice dropping into a tone so terrifyingly dead that even Marcus lowered his weapon a fraction of an inch. “The police are already processing Vanessa back at the manor. Federal marshals have your financial accounts frozen. You have nowhere to run.”
David stared at the smoking bullet hole in the floor. Slowly, his hands rose back into the air. The arrogance drained out of his face, replaced by the grim realization that his multi-year empire of lies had finally collapsed.
