Chapter 10 - The Shot Beneath the Farmhouse
Robert hit the ground beside the table.
Vincent fired toward me.
The bullet tore through my uniform sleeve.
I struck his wrist and forced the weapon down.
He slammed my injured leg against the stone wall.
Pain flashed white.
He knew where I was weak.
My father had told him.
Vincent reached for the confession.
Margaret kicked the document beneath a shelf.
Robert grabbed her hair and dragged her backward.
“You ruined everything.”
She turned and spat blood at him.
“No. I finally stopped helping you.”
Morris’s team entered through the upper floor.
Robert heard them.
He pulled Margaret toward the rear passage.
Vincent broke free and ran toward another tunnel.
I followed.
The corridor opened beneath the western ash tree.
He emerged into the rain.
Agents surrounded him.
He dropped the gun.
Then smiled.
“You think Robert is the end?”
“No.”
“Carter Holdings has nine offshore divisions.”
“I know.”
“You cannot shut them all down.”
“I don’t need to.”
His expression shifted.
“The black-flight drive was copied before court.”
“I know.”
“Then you know the buyer list will disappear.”
“No.”
I looked toward Morris.
“The buyer list was already transmitted.”
My grandfather’s microfilm contained an analog code leading to a secure Navy archive.
Judge Simmons had recognized it when he saluted me.
During our mission years earlier, I had saved him while he carried classified evidence from an ambush.
He later stored part of William’s files under judicial seal.
The courtroom recognition had not only been personal.
It had activated a contingency.
Robert believed the hearing surprised him.
In truth, Judge Simmons had waited years for someone with my identity and the property file to appear.
Federal units raided Carter offices in four states before dawn.
Bank accounts were frozen.
Aircraft were grounded.
Executives were detained.
Robert was captured near the river entrance after trying to use Margaret as a shield.
When agents brought him back through the rain, he looked at me.
“This company feeds thousands of families.”
“So we preserve the jobs.”
“And destroy the Carter name?”
“We remove your control.”
“You are nothing without that name.”
I had heard a version of that sentence my entire life.
At seventeen.
At my grandfather’s funeral.
In the courtroom.
People who need ownership to feel powerful always believe identity can be taken.
I looked at him.
“The name never made me.”
He stared at the medals on my chest.
For once, he had no answer.
Then Morris handed me the confession recovered from beneath the shelf.
The last page contained one more line.
Evelyn must not trust Thomas Simmons.
May you like
I looked toward the farmhouse.
Judge Simmons had just arrived.
