Chapter 8 - The Confrontation at First National

Sarah drew her weapon in a smooth, practiced motion, stepping directly between me and Harrison.

"Drop the weapon, Harrison! Police!" she shouted over the blaring security siren.

Harrison didn't flinch. He raised his suppressed pistol, aiming directly at Sarah's chest.

"You're out of your depth, Detective," Harrison replied coldly.

"My contacts control the state district attorney's office. This entire building is on a blind blackout."

Before he could squeeze the trigger, the front glass doors shattered inward in a violent spray of safety glass.

A tactical breach squad wearing federal armbands poured into the lobby, weapons raised and flashlights blinding.

"FEDERAL AGENTS! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" shouted the lead officer through a bullhorn.

Harrison lowered his gun slowly, a micro-expression of pure fury breaking through his aristocratic composure.

Behind the tactical squad stepped Federal Prosecutor Marcus Vance—Harrison’s estranged younger brother.

"Hello, Harrison," Marcus said quietly, stepping over the shattered glass.

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