Chapter 27 - Bloodlines and Bargains
“You don't know what I did to your father,” Margaret whispered, her hands rock-steady despite the ash burning her eyes.
Clara’s smirk faltered slightly. The two operatives behind her raised their weapons, red laser dots dancing across Margaret’s forehead and sternum. Margaret didn’t even blink.
“Your father didn't die in an accident at the quarry, Clara,” Margaret said, her voice dropping into a register so dark it made the hair on the back of Clara’s neck stand up. “He was selling the deeds to our family land to men who poisoned the groundwater. When he raised his hand to you when you were five years old, I cut the brake line on his hydraulic hauler myself. I stood on the ridge and watched it go over.”
Silence hung in the ruined building, broken only by the crackle of burning timbers.
Clara’s eyes flared with a sudden, venomous hatred that burned through her cold composure. “You lie. You’re a weak, church-going hypocrite who spent thirty years tending roses!”
“I tended roses because the soil over your father’s memory needed fertilizer,” Margaret said coldly. “I protected you then, Clara. And I will protect Noah from you tonight.”
From the shadows behind the collapsed coal chute, a sudden burst of gunfire erupted.
Thomas Mercer hadn't fled down the spillway. He had flanked through the maintenance duct, coming up behind the two mercenaries. His service pistol barked three times in rapid succession. The two operatives collapsed into the snow with heavy thuds before they could bring their rifles to bear.
Clara spun around, her hand diving into her coat pocket for a subcompact pistol, but Margaret lunged forward with surprising agility, slamming the heavy steel barrel of her revolver across Clara’s jaw.
The blow sent Clara sprawling across the frozen concrete, her lip splitting open, blood staining the pure white snow.
Thomas stepped out of the smoke, his weapon aimed at Clara’s head. “Federal warrant for treason, kidnapping, and corporate terrorism. On your stomach. NOW.”
Clara spat blood onto the floor, looking up at Margaret with a laugh that sounded like cracking ice. “You think you won? Listen to the valley, Mother.”
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Far below in the gorge, the deep, rhythmic thumping of heavy helicopter rotors began to echo off the canyon walls.
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