HE SAVED HIS DAUGHTER FROM DROWNING, BUT HER DYING WHISPER UNCOVERED A THREE-YEAR-OLD GRAVE

Mark spun around.

Arthur stood thirty feet away at the foot of the staircase. His tailored suit was ruined by the rain, his tie askew, his hair plastered to his forehead. In his right hand, he held a sleek, small-caliber pistol aimed directly at Mark’s forehead. Behind him stood two more armed operatives.

"Did you really think I’d leave the Catskills without verifying the cleanup myself?" Arthur panted, a manic grin spreading across his face. "You’ve always been predictable, Mark. Clara was the brain; you were just the builder."

"Let her out, Arthur," Mark said quietly, stepping in front of the glass door to shield Clara with his body. "Miller has Brenda. The Albany FBI knows about this place. You're finished. There is no empire left to save."

Arthur laughed, a high, hysterical sound that reverberated off the reinforced concrete.

"The FBI? They’ll arrive to find a collapsed mine shaft and four unidentified charred bodies! Brenda’s word against mine? I have senators in my pocket, Mark! I can rewrite this entire narrative by sunrise. You suffered a mental breakdown after Lily’s near-drowning, tracked down my research facility, and set off a bomb. A family tragedy."

Behind the glass, Clara slammed her fist against the acrylic, shouting words muffled by the soundproofing.

"She’s telling you not to die for her, Mark," Arthur sneered, raising his gun. "Touching. Truly. But this is where the Vance legacy trims its dead branches."

*BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.*

On the wall, the timer on the thermite charges planted by the dead guards dropped below thirty seconds. Arthur hadn't noticed the countdown.

"You built everything on greed, Arthur," Mark said, his eyes flicking to the thermite block positioned directly beneath the main hydraulic conduit above Arthur’s head. "And you forgot the first rule of engineering."

"And what’s that?" Arthur spat.

"Structural load."

Mark dropped to the floor, drawing his backup weapon from his boot.

He didn't fire at Arthur. He fired three rounds directly into the armed thermite block on the ceiling conduit.

The incendiary compound detonated prematurely. A blinding, white-hot chemical flash illuminated the corridor, followed by an ear-splitting roar. The ceiling buckled under the sudden thermal shock. Tons of pressurized industrial cooling pipe and steel rebar collapsed straight onto Arthur and his men.