Chapter 20 - The Unseen Strings
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Phoebe let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Preston froze entirely, his arrogant facade shattering into a million pieces as his brain tried to comprehend the trap he had just walked into.
Julian’s hands began to shake violently. He dropped the medical bag. It hit the floor, bursting open and scattering heavy sedatives and empty syringes across the expensive Persian rug.
Before Carter or Jackson could even think about reaching into their jackets, the concealed panels in the walls slid open. A dozen federal agents and armed tactical security officers poured into the room, their weapons raised in perfect, lethal formation.
“Federal agents! Hands where we can see them! Do it now!” the lead agent roared.
Carter threw his hands into the air immediately, dropping to his knees. Jackson hesitated for a fraction of a second, but when three laser sights settled directly onto his chest, he surrendered, raising his hands in defeat.
Julian began hyperventilating, babbling uncontrollably as an agent slammed him against the wall to handcuff him. “It was Preston! This was all Preston’s idea! He told us she was legally insane! He said we were saving the company! I’m a victim here!”
Preston turned on him, his face contorted in absolute fury. “Shut your pathetic mouth, Julian!”
Phoebe sank to her knees on the rug, weeping, crawling toward my shoes. “Blair, please! I swear to God I didn’t want to come here tonight! They made me do it! They forced me!”
I looked down at her, shaking my head in mild amusement. “Even now, Phoebe? Are you really still trying to perform for me?”
The agents dragged them out of the office one by one. Preston fought back, screaming threats, promising that he would destroy me, that he would ruin the Whitmore name from a prison cell. I just smiled and waved goodbye, watching the men who murdered my parents get dragged out into the rain.
When the house was finally clear, the sirens fading into the distance, Arthur approached my desk.
“It is done, Miss Whitmore,” he said softly, looking immensely proud.
“Yes,” I sighed, feeling a massive weight lift from my shoulders. The original Blair was finally avenged. The empire was safe.
I walked behind my desk to pour myself a celebratory drink, but I stopped short.
Resting perfectly in the center of my blotter, right where the mannequin had been, was a crisp, black envelope. It hadn't been there when I set the trap.
Frowning, I picked it up and broke the wax seal. Inside was a single, heavy cardstock note, written in elegant silver ink.
Preston was a useful idiot, but he was never the mastermind. See you soon, little bird.
May you like
I stared at the note, the sound of the storm suddenly feeling much, much louder. The rats were gone, yes.
But the real wolf was already inside the house.
