Chapter 8 - The Blood Brother
"Drop the weapon, Dominic!" Agent Chen shouted, her pistol trained directly between Dominic Vance’s eyes. Her three tactical officers fanned out, their carbines locked onto Sterling and Dominic. "There is no way out of this cellar. The grounds are completely surrounded."
Sterling immediately dropped the heavy industrial drill, raising his trembling hands into the air. "I surrender! I was coerced! Dominic threatened my family! Agent, I’m unarmed!"
"Shut up, Bradley, you sniveling coward," Dominic spat, not taking his eyes off Julian and me. The barrel of his silver revolver wavered, trembling in his sweating hand. "You took twenty million of the Ares transfer thirty minutes ago. You’re in this until the electric chair."
"Dominic," I said, stepping forward. Julian tried to hold me back, but I pushed his arm away. I stood ten feet from my brother-in-law, surrounded by the shattered glass of Arthur's life's work. "Put the gun down. It’s over. Vanessa is in federal custody. Victor Cross was arrested at JFK. Ares Capital has been frozen. You have nothing."
"I have this house!" Dominic screamed, his voice cracking into madness. "This was supposed to be mine! Arthur stole everything from me! Our father loved him more! He gave him the company, he gave him the estate, he gave him *you*!"
I stared at him with profound pity. "Your father gave Arthur the company because you spent three million dollars of corporate funds at a casino in Macau when you were twenty-four. Arthur bailed you out. He paid your debts. He gave you a monthly stipend until the day he died!"
"He treated me like a dog begging for scraps!" Dominic yelled, veins bulging along his neck. "He sent me to the islands like an exile! And then he had the audacity to write me out of the family trust entirely! He left everything to *him*!"
Dominic swung the barrel of the revolver toward Julian. "A weak, pathetic boy who couldn't even see that his wife was pouring thallium down his father's throat!"
Julian didn't flinch. He didn't hide behind the federal agents. Instead, he took two long, heavy strides forward, stepping directly into the line of fire.
"Shoot me, then, Uncle Dominic," Julian said, his voice eerily devoid of fear. "Do it. Because if you don't pull that trigger in the next three seconds, I am going to tear your throat out with my bare hands."
Dominic's eyes widened. The manic bravado in his expression began to crumble before Julian's unblinking, predatory stare.
"Julian, stand down!" Agent Chen ordered.
Julian ignored her. He took another step forward. "My dad loved you, Dominic. Even when you stole from him, he kept your picture in his desk drawer. He told me that family was the only thing that mattered in this world."
A flash of genuine pain cut across Dominic’s weathered face. "Arthur... Arthur was weak."
"No," Julian said, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet hiss. "My father was strong enough to protect his family without destroying his soul. You destroyed yours for paper that you can't even spend."
Dominic’s hand began to shake violently. The weight of the revolver seemed to become unbearable.
Outside the high, barred basement windows, the wail of dozens of police sirens began to echo through the trees of the Greenwich estate. The local police had arrived in force, their blue and red lights flashing against the stone walls of the vault.
"It's over, Dominic," I said softly. "Don't die in Arthur's cellar. He wouldn't have wanted your blood mixed with his wine."
Dominic looked down at the floor—at the thousands of dollars of deep red wine pooled around his expensive Italian leather shoes. The liquid looked exactly like blood.
A choked, dry sob escaped his throat.
His fingers loosened.
The silver revolver slipped from his grip, clattering harmlessly against the stone floor into a puddle of vintage Cabernet.
"Hands on your head! Face down on the floor! Now!" Agent Chen barked, rushing forward.
The tactical officers slammed Dominic and Sterling to the ground, pinning their arms behind their backs and ratcheting heavy steel zip-ties around their wrists.
Dominic didn't resist. He lay with his face pressed against the cold, wine-soaked gravel, weeping hysterically, muttering incoherently about debts, his father, and the ghost of Arthur Vance.
Julian stood over him for a long moment, watching his uncle being dragged toward the stairs like a sack of garbage.
Then, Julian turned toward the wall safe that Sterling had been trying to breach.
The heavy steel door of the safe had not been drilled open; Sterling had only scratched the outer titanium casing. Julian stepped up to the digital keypad.
He didn't hesitate. He entered six digits: *1-0-1-4-8-2*.
October 14th, 1982.
The day Arthur and I were married.
The heavy electronic lock clicked open with a deep, hydraulic thud.
Julian pulled the heavy safe door wide. Inside, untouched by the greed and violence of the outside world, rested a single, sealed leather-bound ledger, and on top of it, a pristine, unopened bottle of 1982 Château Lafite Rothschild.
Arthur hadn't just owned one bottle.
May you like
He had kept the duplicate here, in the heart of his home, waiting for the storm to pass.
***
