Chapter 5
The heavy double doors of the dining room exploded inward under a coordinated tactical breach, showering the room in splinters of wood.
Half a dozen federal marshals in tactical gear swarmed the space, their weapons raised and laser sights painting the walls in crimson dots.
"Federal agents! Drop the weapon immediately and put your hands behind your head!" the lead marshal shouted with military-grade precision.
Marcus stood paralyzed, the knife slipping from his nerveless fingers and clattering loudly against the hardwood floor beneath his polished shoes.
He slowly raised his hands, his dark charcoal suit looking less like a symbol of corporate power and more like a convict's uniform.
Two marshals tackled him to the ground, slamming his face against the floor with ruthless efficiency and ratcheting steel cuffs onto his wrists.
Elena wailed from the floor, clutching her bruised arm while screaming obscenities at the agents who completely ignored her aristocratic status.
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Sarah gently lowered her weapon, stepping back to allow the medical team immediate access to the exhausted pregnant woman in the dusty pink dress.
Clara let out a long, ragged breath of profound relief as two female medics rushed forward with a portable stretcher and oxygen mask.
