Chapter 5 - The Ambush at Blackwood
The heavy oak door slammed against the drywall, splintering the frame and sending wood chips flying across the hardwood floor.
Richard and the two men spun around in shock.
Daniel charged into the living room like a battering ram, throwing his entire two-hundred-pound frame directly into Richard before the old man could raise the shotgun.
The two men collided with terrifying force, smashing into the small wooden table. The glass of scotch shattered on the hearth, the blue master folder went flying through the air, and the 12-gauge shotgun slid across the polished floorboards, stopping right at my feet as I stepped out of the hallway.
"Daniel!" I screamed.
The two liquidators reacted instantly, reaching into their heavy coats for concealed handguns.
"Don't move!" I roared, snatching the 12-gauge shotgun off the floor, racking the heavy slide with a loud, metallic CLACK-CLACK that echoed through the high-ceilinged room like a thunderclap.
The two men froze in their tracks. They looked at me—a mother with snow in her hair, blood on her hands, and a double-barreled shotgun leveled squarely at their chests—and saw a woman who would not hesitate for a single microsecond to pull the trigger.
"Drop your weapons on the rug," I commanded, my voice cold, lethal, and absolute. "Drop them NOW!"
The two liquidators slowly raised their hands, unbuckling their leather holsters and letting their handguns drop softly onto the thick Persian rug.
On the floor beside the fireplace, the struggle was brutal.
Richard, despite his age, fought with the frantic, terrifying strength of a cornered animal. He managed to gouge his thumb into Daniel's eye, forcing Daniel to roll backward with a shout of pain.
Richard scrambled to his feet, pulling a sharp, six-inch hunting knife from his belt sheath, his face contorted into a grotesque, murderous snarl.
"You foolish, ungrateful little bastard!" Richard screamed, lunging toward Daniel with the knife raised. "I built everything you have! I gave you a life! And you let this bitch turn you against your own father?!"
Daniel dodged to the left, the steel blade slicing clean through the shoulder of his winter coat.
"You tried to destroy my daughter!" Daniel roared, swinging the heavy tactical flashlight with all his strength.
BANG.
The heavy aluminum flashlight struck Richard hard across the temple.
Richard’s eyes went wide with shock. His legs turned to jelly, and he crashed headfirst into the stone hearth of the fireplace. The hunting knife slipped from his fingers, clattering uselessly against the stone.
The room fell into a dead, suffocating silence.
The only sounds were the crackle of the wood fire, the howling wind outside, and Daniel’s ragged, gasping breaths as he stood over his unconscious father.
I kept the shotgun trained on the two liquidators, stepping back toward the wall.
"Daniel," I panted, my eyes never leaving the two men. "The blue folder. Get the blue folder."
Daniel wiped a line of blood from his forehead, leaning down to scoop up the scattered papers of the master ledger, along with the steel briefcase containing the Panama transfer records and the bearer bonds.
Outside, the siren call of approaching police cruisers began to echo up the mountain lane—sharp, high-pitched wails cutting through the winter storm.
Detective Miller hadn't stayed at the station. He had tracked Daniel’s cell phone signal the moment we left the city limits.
Five red-and-blue police cruisers pulled into the gravel driveway, their spotlights blinding through the front windows of the lodge. SWAT officers carrying assault rifles poured onto the porch, kicking the front door open and sweeping the room in seconds.
"POLICE! DROP THE WEAPON!" an officer screamed.
I slowly lowered the shotgun, setting it on the floorboards, and raised my hands.
Detective Miller stepped through the shattered front door, taking in the scene: the two liquidators face-down on the rug in handcuffs, Richard bleeding and unconscious beside the hearth, and Daniel standing over the recovered financial ledgers.
Miller walked over to Daniel, looking at the blue master folder in his hands, then turned his gaze to me.
May you like
"Mrs. Pierce," Miller said, taking a slow, deep breath and shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "You really don't do things by halves, do you?"
"I told you, Detective," I said softly, my voice trembling as the adrenaline finally began to drain from my body. "Nobody touches my daughter and gets away with it."
