Chapter 4: The Poisoned Boardroom
Chapter 4: The Poisoned Boardroom
The eastern maintenance shed was engulfed in roaring orange flames by the time Grant’s heavy black armored SUV tore across the pasture, its tires churning up mud and wet grass.
Thick black smoke billowed into the night sky, carrying the smell of burning diesel and charred wood. Two estate fire trucks were already on scene, their high-pressure water cannons blasting streams of white water into the inferno.
In the shadows near the tree line, a dark sedan was spun out in the mud, its front bumper smashed against an ancient oak tree.
"There!" Marcus shouted from the front passenger seat, pointing a heavy flashlight toward the woods. "Two men on foot!"
Grant slammed the SUV into park, threw open his door, and leapt out into the rain-slicked grass. Caleb was right behind him, pulling a heavy brass fire extinguisher from the rack on the back of the SUV.
A tall figure in a wet leather jacket emerged from the brush near the burning shed, holding a metal canister. The man turned—and the floodlights from the SUV caught his face.
It was Simon. Vanessa’s driver.
His face was wild, smeared with grease and soot. In his right hand, he held a dark, heavy object—a suppressed hand pistol.
"Stay back!" Simon roared over the thunder of the fire and the roar of the water cannons. "Stay back, Harrington! You were supposed to be dead six hours ago!"
Grant didn't stop. He walked straight toward the armed man, his tall frame cutting through the smoke like a shadow of judgment. "You brought fire to my land, Simon."
"Your wife paid me five million dollars to put you in the ground!" Simon screamed, his hands shaking as he raised the gun toward Grant's chest. "She promised me the European logistics contract! You have everything, Harrington! Everything! And you don't even know what your life is worth!"
"I know what it’s worth now," Grant said softly, taking another step forward.
"I’ll shoot you right here!" Simon yelled, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Suddenly, a heavy shape flew through the air.
Caleb had sprinted around the side of the burning shed, navigating the flames through paths he had walked every day for a decade. He hurled the fifty-pound brass fire extinguisher with all his strength, striking Simon squarely in the chest.
The gun discharged into the dirt with a dull thud as Simon was knocked backward into the mud, gasping for air.
Before the driver could recover, Marcus and three security officers tackled him, pinning his arms behind his back and pulling the weapon away.
Caleb dropped to his knees in the mud, gasping for breath, his hand clutching his bleeding ribs. He looked up at the burning shed as the fire crew finally breached the front doors, spraying foam across the interior.
A young firefighter emerged from the smoke two minutes later, carrying a charred, heavy iron box. He walked over and handed it to Caleb.
Caleb opened the box with trembling fingers. Inside, wrapped in oilskin, lay a thick leather journal—completely untouched by the fire.
Caleb pulled the journal to his chest, closing his eyes as tears washed clean tracks through the soot on his face.
Grant knelt beside him in the mud. He didn't care about his custom trousers, his expensive shoes, or the rain soaking through his clothes. He placed his hand on Caleb’s back, feeling the trembling strength of the young man.
"We caught him, Caleb," Grant said gently. "It’s over."
Caleb looked up, his voice barely a whisper against the fading roar of the flames. "Why did they hate us so much, Grant? We never did anything to them."
May you like
Grant looked at the handcuffed driver being dragged away by federal marshals, then out at the vast, dark expanse of his estate.
"Because men like Simon and Vanessa live in darkness, Caleb," Grant answered softly. "And when you live in darkness, the light of honest men doesn't just blind you—it terrifies you."
