Chapter 6 - Shadows Over Mercer Empire
The dark timber surrounding the cabin seemed to close in as the low crunch of heavy boots on dry leaves echoed through the ravine.
"Marcus, how many?" Nathan whispered, pulling his mother behind him toward the dark back corner of the small cabin.
"Two confirmed coming down the trail, but there could be more setting up a perimeter," Marcus replied, his eyes focused sharply through the gap in the window shutter. "They're moving tactical, weapons drawn. These aren't private security, Mr. Mercer. These are professional mercenaries."
"They came to finish what Arthur started thirty years ago," Eleanor said softly, her hand clutching Nathan’s sleeve. "They can't let me testify."
"They're not touching you," Nathan vowed, his jaw clenched tight. "Marcus, what's our escape route?"
"There's an old drainage culvert fifty yards behind the cabin that runs down into the creek bed," Eleanor pointed toward a small, reinforced trapdoor in the floorboards near the wood stove. "I dug it out years ago in case Arthur ever sent men to eliminate me."
Marcus moved quickly, prying open the wooden hatch. A cool, damp draft of underground air rushed into the room. "Get down there now! I'll buy us time."
"Marcus, no!" Nathan protested. "You're outnumbered!"
"I'm trained for this, sir. You're not," Marcus said with cold efficiency, pulling a heavy flash-bang grenade from his tactical vest—a remnant from his days in military Special Forces. "Go! Follow the culvert south toward the old logging road!"
Nathan grabbed his mother carefully, helping her lower herself into the dark, stone-lined culvert before sliding down after her. He pulled the trapdoor shut just as the front window of the cabin exploded inward under a volley of suppressed gunfire.
*Thump! Thump! Thump!*
The muffled pops of automatic weapons shattered the silence above, followed instantly by the blinding flash and deafening roar of Marcus’s stun grenade. Screams of disorientation echoed through the floorboards as Marcus returned calculated, lethal fire.
"Move, Mom!" Nathan urged, taking Eleanor’s arm and guiding her through the cramped, muddy tunnel.
They crawled in near-total darkness, the damp stone walls smelling of rust and wet earth. Up above, the sounds of gunfire slowly faded as they put distance between themselves and the cabin. Nathan’s heart pounded violently against his ribs, his mind reeling from the double betrayal. Sloane—the woman he had been married to for seven years, the woman he had trusted with his life—was actively assisting the men who wanted his mother dead.
After three agonizing minutes of crawling, the culvert opened into an overgrown creek bed covered in thick mountain brush. The cool night air hit Nathan’s face as he helped Eleanor climb out onto the muddy bank.
"Are you alright?" Nathan asked, examining his mother in the pale moonlight.
"I'm fine, Nathan," she panted, her voice remarkably steady despite the terror. "I've survived thirty years in these woods. They won't catch us here."
Suddenly, the rustle of dry leaves came from the ridge directly above them.
Nathan froze, reaching for a heavy stone on the riverbed. A dark silhouette emerged from the shadow of the hemlock trees, moving quickly down the embankment.
"Don't throw that, Mr. Mercer," a familiar voice called out softly.
It was Marcus. His black suit jacket was torn at the shoulder, and a thin streak of blood ran down his temple, but he was holding two tactical rifles he had commandeered from the attackers.
"Marcus!" Nathan breathed a sigh of immense relief. "Are you hit?"
"Just a graze, sir. Both targets neutralized," Marcus reported calmly, handing one of the sidearms to Nathan after switching off the safety. "We have about ten minutes before their backup realizes they haven't checked in. The black SUV is still sitting at the top of the trail with the engine idling."
"We take their vehicle," Nathan decided instantly. "We need to get back to Charlotte before morning."
"What about Blackridge Lodge?" Eleanor asked. "What about Sloane?"
Nathan's eyes turned into hard, unyielding flint. "Sloane thinks we're trapped in that cabin. She thinks Julian Sterling's men are going to handle the problem. We're going to let her believe that until we step into the corporate boardroom tomorrow morning."
They scrambled up the steep embankment to the parked SUV. Marcus quickly cleared the vehicle, confirmed the keys were in the ignition, and disabled the onboard tracking system.
Within minutes, they were speeding down the winding mountain pass, leaving the dark woods of Hollow Creek behind.
As the city lights of Charlotte began to glow on the distant horizon, Nathan pulled out a burner phone he kept in the SUV’s glove box. He dialed a private, encrypted number he hadn't called in five years—the personal cell phone of Senior Special Agent Richard Vance of the FBI's Financial Crimes Division.
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"Vance," a deep voice answered on the second ring.
"Richard, it's Nathan Mercer," Nathan said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I have the ledger, I have the witness, and I'm ready to bring down Mercer Enterprises."
