Chapter 25 - Bloodline Subpoena
I didn't run.
Instead, I slid the brass thumb-drive into my inner pocket, stepped out from behind the steel archive racks, and stood dead-center in the dimly lit corridor under the flickering fluorescent bulb.
The heavy iron door swung open, and four men in black tactical polo shirts stepped in, submachine guns slung across their chests. But the man leading them wasn't a hired gun.
It was my brother, Julian Mercer.
The golden child. The son who had never spent a single day in uniform, yet wore custom-tailored bespoke suits paid for with blood money. He froze when he saw me, his jaw dropping in genuine horror.
"Evelyn...?" Julian stammered, stepping back instinctively. "You're... you were supposed to be at the cabin! The news said the place was leveled!"
"You always were careless with your contract logistics, Julian," I said, my voice echoing with terrifying authority through the damp brick vault. I didn't reach for my weapon. I stood at parade rest, my posture commanding, my eyes pinning him like a specimen on a dissecting table. "You send mercenaries to murder an active-duty Navy Captain, and you don't even confirm the kill yourself?"
Julian’s face went white, then mottled with a mixture of terror and aristocratic arrogance. "You don't understand what you’re interfering with, Evelyn! This isn't your petty military court! Father built an empire that supplies half the defense contracts on the Eastern Seaboard! You think the government will let you tear down a billion-dollar supply chain for an old, retired sailor who didn't know when to keep his mouth shut?!"
Before the words had fully left his mouth, a shadow detached from the ceiling rafters. Nathan dropped directly behind the rear two mercenaries with the brutal silence of a striking viper. Two concussive strikes, two sickening crunches of bone against combat boots, and both contractors collapsed to the floor unconscious before their weapons could clear their slings.
The third mercenary spun around, but I crossed the ten feet between Julian and me in a heartbeat. My palm struck the guard's chin, snapping his head back, while my left hand stripped his carbine from his hands and dumped the magazine onto the concrete floor.
Julian fell back against the filing cabinets, trembling, his designer suit sliding against the cold metal.
"You speak of Chief Vance with respect, Julian," I whispered, leaning down until my face was inches from his. "Because by noon today, every asset with the Mercer name on it will be seized by the United States Marshals and the Department of the Navy."
"Father will crush you," Julian wept, clutching his bruised chest. "He has the Admiral! Rear Admiral Vance is the presiding authority at the regional court-martial board! You can't even get onto the base!"
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"I don't need an invitation to Norfolk," I whispered coldly, slapping a federal subpoena—stamped with the seal of the Joint Chiefs—firmly onto his chest. "I have a standing warrant."
***
