Chapter 10 - The Turning Point
-10-
With a sudden, violent shove, Nora threw herself past Julian, diving toward the workbench before anyone could react to the impossible movement.
“Grab her!” Arthur barked, his face twisting in shock.
A mercenary lunged, but Julian intercepted him with a brutal, crushing punch to the throat, sending the man crashing to the floor. Julian spun, kicking the knee out from under a second guard and ripping the assault rifle from his hands in one fluid, savage motion. Julian opened fire, creating a wall of lead that forced Arthur and his men to dive for cover behind the server racks.
Nora hit the workbench hard, her ribs bruising against the metal edge. She scrambled to the keyboard, her fingers flying over the keys as bullets sparked and ricocheted off the machinery around her.
She looked at the decryption screen, which was still demanding a keyword.
Helena Hawthorne had died on October 14th, 2008. But that wasn’t the date she was trying to protect. She was protecting the day she uncovered the truth. The day written in the corner of the photograph inside the locket.
Nora typed: 08242008
She slammed the ENTER key.
The screen froze for one agonizing second. Then, a massive green progress bar shot across the monitor.
DECRYPTION SUCCESSFUL.
UPLOADING FILES TO GLOBAL PRESS NETWORK...
30%... 60%... 100%.
TRANSMISSION COMPLETE.
“NO!” Arthur screamed, watching the monitors from behind cover. He knew exactly what had just happened. Decades of meticulously hidden financial crimes, offshore accounts, bribery ledgers, and murder conspiracies had just been blasted to every major news outlet, federal agency, and international watchdog on the planet. His empire was dead.
In his blind panic and rage, Arthur stepped out from cover, pulling a silver pistol from his jacket, aiming directly at Nora’s back.
“NORA!” Julian roared.
A gunshot rang out.
But it didn’t come from Arthur’s gun.
Arthur froze, a look of profound, bewildered shock spreading across his flushed face. He looked down at his chest, where a dark, spreading stain of crimson was rapidly ruining his expensive tailored suit. He dropped the gun, staggering backward before collapsing heavily onto the concrete floor.
Julian spun around, his stolen rifle raised, searching for the shooter.
Standing in the shadows near the rear entrance of the warehouse, holding a smoking sniper rifle, was Marcus. The head of Alderwyn security was bleeding heavily from a wound in his side, his face pale and drawn, but his hands were dead steady.
“I told you, Mr. Hawthorne,” Marcus coughed, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “I’m a loyal dog. And I don’t take Prescott money.”
The remaining mercenaries, realizing that their employer was dead and their paychecks had just evaporated into thin air, immediately dropped their weapons and scrambled out of the blown-out entrance, disappearing into the rainy New York night like rats fleeing a sinking ship.
Julian dropped his rifle and sprinted to Nora, pulling her into a fierce, desperate embrace. He buried his face in her hair, his massive frame shaking with the adrenaline crash.
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“You did it,” Julian whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “You finished what she started.”
Nora clung to him, weeping tears of relief and exhaustion against his chest. They were alive. The truth was out. The nightmare that had haunted them both for eighteen years was finally over.
