Chapter 21 - The negotiation
The heavy oak front door shuddered under three measured knocks from the steel tip of Viktor’s cane. There was no shouting, no sirens, and no panic from the street outside. Viktor was operating with the cold confidence of an untouchable predator who owned the night.
"Marcus," a cultured, gravelly voice resonated through the wood. "Open the door, old friend. Let us resolve this without reducing your charming little school to ashes."
Marcus glanced back at Tessa. He walked to the gunmetal locker, pulled out an old Colt 1911 pistol, checked the slide, and handed it to his daughter. "Two hands on the grip. Safety is off. If anyone breaches the back office before I return, shoot through the frame at chest level."
"Dad, don't walk out there alone," Tessa whispered, her fingers wrapping securely around the checkered wood grips. "There are eight men with rifles."
"They have rifles, honey," Marcus said, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. "I have the ledger that puts every politician they work for on death row."
Marcus walked to the double doors, turned the deadbolts, and pulled the entrance open. He stepped out onto the concrete landing, the cold night wind whipping against his gray work shirt. Ten yards away, Viktor leaned against his cane, flanked by two bodyguards who immediately leveled their laser sights against Marcus’s chest.
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"You haven't aged a day, Marcus," Viktor said, a thin, patronizing smile curling his lips. "Still smelling of five-weight motor oil and cheap solvent. Such a tragic waste of the finest tactical mind the defense department ever produced."
"You have thirty seconds to clear these vehicles off my curb, Viktor," Marcus said, his hands resting loose at his sides. "Before I broadcast the encrypted manifests to the federal magistrate."
