Chapter 9 - Edge of the Abyss
The spotlights hit Daniel like a physical blow, casting his tall, battered silhouette against the snow. He stood in his shirtsleeves, the back brace visible beneath his torn flannel shirt, holding the shotgun loosely at his side, barrel pointed at the earth.
Ten yards away, the mercenaries raised their rifles, laser sights painting crimson dots across Daniel’s chest and forehead.
"Hold your fire!" Eleanor’s voice commanded.
She stepped out from beneath the canopy, a patronizing smile curving her red lips. The wind whipped her fur coat around her like royal robes.
"Daniel," she sighed, shaking her head with theatrical disappointment. "Look at you. Broken. Bleeding. Standing in the freezing cold for a woman who will be dead within the hour. Is this how the proud heir of Charles Sterling ends?"
"I am not the heir of your lies, Eleanor," Daniel said, his voice carrying over the howl of the storm. "I know about Sarah Lin."
Eleanor’s smile vanished instantly. Her pale eyes narrowed into slits of venomous fury. "Where did you hear that name?"
"My father knew," Daniel replied, taking one slow, deliberate step forward, ignoring the laser sights dancing across his heart. "He knew you had my mother murdered. He knew you poisoned him with succinylcholine. And he knew you were embezzling from the trust to cover your pathetic, rotting empire."
Eleanor stared at him, then threw her head back and laughed—a dry, barking sound that was instantly whipped away by the gale.
"And who will you tell, Daniel? The trees? The snow? Look around you! The valley is sealed! Dr. Vance is neutralized! You have no witnesses, no allies, and no way off this mountain!" Eleanor gestured to the men holding accelerant containers. "When I burn that cabin, you, your little peasant wife, and that bastard parasite inside her will be reduced to ash. The coroner will rule it a tragic cabin fire caused by a faulty wood stove during a blizzard. And I will inherit every single penny of the Sterling fortune."
"You're wrong, Eleanor," Daniel said quietly.
"Oh? And why is that, darling?"
Daniel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, blinking red LED transceiver.
"Because five minutes ago, Marcus tapped into the regional emergency broadcast array," Daniel said, a slow, grim smile spreading across his bloodstained lips. "My father's complete confession, along with the audio of you bragging about kicking Emily down the cliff and planning our murder... is currently playing live on every news network, police scanner, and federal bureau frequency across three states."
Eleanor’s face drained of all color. "You're bluffing."
At that exact second, the satellite phone in her hand began to vibrate violently. Then the radio units on the mercenaries' vests erupted with chaotic, panicked chatter:
*"...All units, this is Federal Bureau of Investigation Field Office Denver. All private airwaves in Sector 4 are commandeered... Mass federal warrants issued for Eleanor Sterling... Lethal force authorized for any non-compliant armed combatants..."*
The mercenaries looked at each other, their discipline instantly shattering. They weren't paid to fight the United States Federal Government.
"Shoot him!" Eleanor screamed, her voice cracking into shrill hysteria, lunging toward one of the guards. "SHOOT HIM NOW! KILL HIM!"
The mercenaries lowered their weapons, backing away toward the vehicles. "Contract is void, ma'am. We're out."
"COWARDS! I WILL RUIN YOU!" Eleanor shrieked.
Driven completely insane by the sudden collapse of her thirty-year empire, Eleanor lunged forward. She drew a small, silver-plated derringer pistol from her fur coat and aimed it directly at Daniel’s head.
"If I lose everything," she screamed, her eyes completely wild, "YOU DIE FIRST!"
Daniel didn't flinch. He didn't raise his shotgun.
Instead, he struck the road flare against his belt, sparking a blinding, volcanic red flame, and hurled it directly at the puddle of spilled chemical accelerant pooling at Eleanor's feet.
*WHOOSH.*
A wall of roaring fire erupted between them. Eleanor shrieked, stumbling backward in terror, dropping the pistol into the snow as the flames consumed the perimeter.
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Through the roaring blizzard above, the deafening thrum of heavy helicopter rotors shook the very mountain. Four black federal tactical choppers, mounted with searchlights that turned the night into blinding noon, descended through the storm clouds.
***
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