Chapter 7 - The Transformer Override-7
"Step away from the terminal, Bruce," my voice rang out through the quiet suite like a pipe clap of thunder.
Both men snapped around instantly. Jim let out a sharp gasp, stumbling backward against the sofa, while Bruce reacted with the swift, practiced movement of a man who had already prepared for a confrontation.
His hand darted beneath his linen shirt, emerging with a compact, short-barreled automatic pistol. He leveled the barrel straight at my chest, his knuckles white against the grip beneath the amber lights.
"You should have stayed in bed, Claire," Bruce whispered, his voice cold, mechanical, and completely devoid of the human warmth he had feigned for six years of marriage. "You always had to be the smart one. You always had to dig through the ledgers."
"Lower the gun, Bruce," I said, taking a slow, deliberate step forward, my gray eyes locking onto his with an absolute, unblinking finality that made his finger twitch against the trigger guard. "The suite is surrounded. Special Agent Harris and a joint federal task force cleared the resort perimeter ten minutes ago. If you fire that weapon, you won't even make it to the elevator."
"She's bluffing!" Jim yelled frantically from the background, his eyes wildly scanning the windows. "Bruce, the transfer is at ninety-seven percent! Just hit the execute key!"
"She isn't bluffing about her agency," Bruce spat, his eyes never leaving my face. "But she’s too late. Once the master keys hit the Cyprus array, the eighty-five million dollars becomes ours, and your career, your reputation, and your life are permanently erased. Drop the bypass key, Claire. Now."
"The foundation doesn't rely on your Cypriot servers, Bruce," I whispered softly. "And my family isn't an asset on your ledger anymore."
Instead of lunging for the gun or dropping the bypass key, I slammed my heavy iron utility flashlight straight into the exposed high-voltage junction box mounted inside the open wall paneling.
CRASH-BOOM.
A blinding, blue-white explosion of electrical arc fire erupted from the wall cavity, hissing violently as the localized circuit breakers blew under the concussive short-circuit blast. A shower of white sparks and hot plaster dust erupted across the entertainment center, plunging the entire suite into a pitch-black, suffocating twilight.
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The automatic pistol discharged once into the ceiling panels with a deafening, concussive roar as Bruce was thrown backward by the sheer shockwave of the electrical blast, his weapon clattering harmlessly across the marble tile floor.
The high-density server drive ground to a dead halt with a sickening, mechanical screech, its neon-green progress bar flashing red once before completely dying in the dark.
