Chapter 13
The firefight in the woods lasted less than four minutes. Damon stood by the window of his study, listening to the muffled cracks of gunfire echoing in the distance. He felt absolutely no remorse.
"Perimeter is clear, Boss," Marcus reported over the comms, his voice laced with adrenaline. "We neutralized thirty hostiles. No casualties on our side. The mercenary leader has been secured alive."
"Bring him to the garage," Damon commanded, turning away from the window. "I want to have a conversation about his client."
Damon descended to the subterranean garage beneath the estate. The bright, cinematic lighting illuminated the sleek, black SUVs parked in neat rows. The mercenary leader was kneeling on the concrete floor, his hands zip-tied behind his back, bleeding from a superficial wound on his shoulder. He looked up as Damon approached, genuine terror replacing his earlier arrogance.
Damon didn't shout. He didn't draw a weapon. He stood over the kneeling man, projecting absolute, unyielding dominance.
"Who hired you?" Damon asked, his tone perfectly measured and lethal.
"Judge Sutton!" the mercenary gasped, eager to trade information for his life. "He used an intermediary in Chicago! He paid us twenty-five million to breach the house and make it look like a cartel hit!"
Damon’s expression remained entirely blank, processing the confirmation of his political rival's treachery. Judge Sutton had ordered a hit that would have endangered Micah and Caleb.
"Thank you," Damon said smoothly.
He turned to Marcus. "Dispose of him."
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"Wait! You said we were businessmen!" the mercenary shrieked as Marcus drew his sidearm.
"I am a father," Damon corrected softly, walking away as the suppressed gunshot echoed briefly in the cavernous garage. "And you threatened my children."
