Chapter 7 - The Loyal Traitor
The silence in the great room became heavier than the mountain air outside.
Beckett felt the floor beneath his feet tilt, the world spinning on an axis he no longer controlled.
Pierce Rowan had been with him since they were seventeen years old, stealing car radios on the south side of the docks.
Pierce was the best man at his wedding.
Pierce was the godfather to the child Laurel had lost twelve years ago during a turf war with the Moretti crew.
Pierce was the only man in the world Beckett trusted with his back.
"You?" Beckett whispered, the word barely carrying across the stone hearth.
"Why, Pierce?"
"Because someone had to protect you from yourself," Pierce answered, his gun steady, pointed not at Beckett, but at the space between Beckett and Julian.
"You were losing your mind, Beckett."
"For the last two years, you’ve been acting like an emperor who couldn't be touched."
"You brought that little girl Taryn into your life, thinking you were being discreet."
"You started ignoring the warnings about the feds, you stopped reviewing the shipment manifests, and you let Laurel sit alone in that giant museum of a house like a piece of furniture."
"So you helped her rob me?" Beckett snarled, taking an aggressive step toward his oldest friend.
"She didn't rob you!" Pierce shouted, his composure finally breaking, his face flushing red with a sudden, violent anger.
"She saved your miserable life!"
Pierce reached into his pocket with his left hand and threw a thick manila folder onto the floor between them.
It fell open, spilling surveillance logs, wiretap transcripts, and high-resolution photographs of federal agents staking out the Shaw estate.
"The Strike Force was preparing a RICO indictment for next month," Pierce said, gesturing wildly at the papers.
"Julian here had already cut a deal with the U.S. Attorney’s office to hand over our routes in exchange for full immunity."
Julian didn't deny it; he merely sneered and took another sip of his whiskey.
"Laurel found out three months ago," Pierce continued, his voice dropping back into a ragged, desperate whisper.
"She knew that if the feds hit us, you would go down for life, and every man on our payroll would be sent to a federal penitentiary."
"She went to Julian and pretended to be the bitter, betrayed wife."
"She offered him your ledger in exchange for a way out."
"She let him believe he was setting you up, but she rewrote the ledger, Beckett!"
"She doctored the books so that every single illegal transaction from the last seven years points straight back to Julian Vance and his shell companies!"
Beckett stared at the papers on the floor, his mind racing through the revelations like a train off the rails.
"The anniversary party..." Beckett murmured, the horror of it choking him.
"She needed a public break," Pierce said, nodding slowly.
"The feds were watching the ballroom from across the street."
"They had directional microphones on the terrace."
"They needed to see that Laurel was completely estranged from you, that she had no knowledge of your operations, and that you had cast her aside."
"She knew you would react if she slapped Taryn."
"She knew your pride wouldn't let another woman be humiliated in front of your captains."
"She provoked you so that you would strike her, Beckett!"
"She took that hit on purpose so the federal government would see her as a battered victim instead of a co-conspirator!"
Beckett felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest by bare hands.
The slap.
The sting of his palm against her cheek.
The look in her eyes as she pulled off her wedding ring.
It hadn't been an act of surrender.
It had been the ultimate sacrifice.
She had taken a public humiliation, allowed herself to be struck across the face by the man she had loved for sixteen years, all to ensure that when the hammer of federal justice fell, it would crush Julian Vance and leave Beckett Shaw untouchable.
She had saved his life, his freedom, and his empire, at the cost of her own dignity.
"Where is she, Pierce?" Beckett choked out, tears of pure, unadulterated shame finally burning behind his eyes.
"Tell me where she is."
"She told me not to tell you," Pierce said, lowering his weapon completely.
"She told me that if you really loved her, you would let her go."
"She said sixteen years of cleaning up your blood was enough."
Julian Vance chuckled from the shadows near the fire, a bitter, spiteful sound.
"Touching," Julian sneered.
"A truly magnificent romance."
"Too bad neither of you is leaving this room alive."
Julian reached beneath the edge of the mahogany table, his fingers finding a hidden panic button.
Before Beckett or Pierce could react, the heavy steel security shutters slammed down over the windows and doors of the great room with a deafening boom.
From the ceiling above, the ventilation grates hissed as pressurized canisters were punctured.
The room began to fill with a dense, sweet-smelling white gas.
May you like
Julian pulled a hidden respirator mask from beneath the bar and strapped it to his face with a chilling, triumphant grin.
"If I'm going to prison on Monday, Shaw," Julian’s muffled voice echoed through the respirator, "you're going to the morgue tonight."
