Chapter 11 - The Face of the Monster
"Step away from the desk, Vance," I commanded, raising the pistol with both hands, aiming straight at his chest.
Julian Vance took a slow sip of his scotch, setting the crystal glass down on the polished mahogany surface with a soft clink. He was a man in his early fifties, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his graying hair combed back perfectly. He looked like the picture of corporate success—unmoved, arrogant, and entirely devoid of human empathy.
"Or what, Evelyn?" Vance asked gently, taking a step forward with his hands casually in his pockets. "You'll shoot me? An unblemished corporate executive in his own office? Do you know what the press will say tomorrow?"
"I don't care about the press," I hissed, my finger resting heavy on the trigger. "You tried to poison my ten-year-old daughter. You tried to murder my husband in his sleep."
Vance sighed softly, as if explaining a simple math problem to an impatient child.
"Your husband was an idiot," Vance said coldly. "He was hired to audit numbers, not to play white knight. Vanguard spent seven hundred million dollars developing the Aerosol-9 compound. It cures respiratory degenerative diseases in ninety percent of cases. So what if ten percent suffer severe neurological damage during the initial calibration phase? That is an acceptable statistical sacrifice for progress!"
"My child is not a statistical sacrifice!" I screamed.
"Your child was collateral damage because your husband wouldn't take five million dollars to sign his non-disclosure agreement!" Vance snapped, his calm demeanor slipping for a split second, revealing the rabid monster underneath. "He brought this on your house! Not me!"
Vance reached slowly toward the edge of his desk, where a small red master control button glowed beside his laptop.
"Don't move!" I warned, stepping closer.
"In thirty seconds, my private helicopter lands on the roof," Vance said, his voice dropping to a icy whisper. "The police will arrive in twenty minutes to find a tragic chemical accident down in the sub-basement. You, your husband, and Detective Carter will be dead from gas inhalation. And I will be in a non-extradition country enjoying my retirement."
Vance slammed his palm down onto the red master control button!
WHIRRRRR...
A heavy metal security shutter instantly descended from the ceiling between us, dropping like a guillotine to divide the office in two!
"No!" I shouted, firing three rounds into the heavy metal shutter.
The bullets bounced off the reinforced steel with loud ricochets, leaving harmless silver dents in the metal.
Behind the closing shutter, I could hear Vance’s dark chuckle echoing over the intercom system.
"Goodbye, Evelyn. Give my regards to your husband in the afterlife."
I stood alone in the dim executive lobby as the sound of heavy helicopter blades began to thump directly above the ceiling on the rooftop helipad.
He was escaping.
I looked down at the tactical vest Detective Carter had given me. Strapped into the side pocket was a small, high-intensity emergency breaching flare—a piece of police equipment Carter had brought from his trunk.
I pulled the breaching flare from the pouch, ignited the pull-cord, and slammed the blinding 3,000-degree white flame directly against the tempered glass hinges of the executive balcony door.
The heavy glass frame shattered under the thermal shock with a loud CRACK!
I kicked the shattered glass open, stepping out into the pouring rain on the 5th-floor balcony.
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Directly above me, accessible by a narrow metal fire escape ladder, the dark silhouette of a sleek executive helicopter was spooling up its rotors on the roof.
I grabbed the wet metal rungs of the ladder and began to climb into the storm.
