THE LAST WAR GENERAL

The Reckoning Begins 2

No one answered. Everyone was too busy staring at the coffin.

Richard's face had gone from pale to crimson. "Dominic! This is your last warning! Security—" He turned to his secretary, a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses who stood frozen near the wall. "Call Gregory! Tell him to get his men up here NOW!"

The secretary fumbled for his phone with shaking hands, scrolling through contacts until he found "Gregory Holt - Security Chief." His finger hovered over the call button.

He pressed it.

From inside the coffin came a shrill, muffled ringtone.

The secretary's phone clattered to the floor.

Every person in that ballroom felt a wave of primal dread that started in their guts and spread through their nervous systems. Something was very, very wrong.

Richard took a step backward. "What... what is..."

Dominic walked to the coffin with leisurely confidence. He looked down at it for a moment, head tilted as if listening to the ringtone still echoing from within. Then he raised his boot and kicked the side with brutal force.

The lid flew open.

A woman screamed. Then another. Then a dozen voices joined in a chorus of horror.

Inside the coffin lay Gregory Holt—or what remained of him. His face was a pulped mess of dried blood and mud. Both hands were twisted at unnatural angles, every finger clearly broken. His expensive tactical gear was torn and filthy. And from the pocket of his jacket, a phone buzzed and glowed, displaying "Kane Manor - Office" on the screen.

He wasn't moving. Might not ever move again.

"Oh God," someone whispered. "Oh God, is he—"

"MURDER!" Vivienne shrieked, pointing at Dominic with a trembling hand. "He's murdered Gregory! Call the police! Call—" Her voice cracked with genuine terror now, all pretense of victim-playing stripped away by raw fear. "This is murder! You'll get the death penalty!"

Dominic's eyes found hers across the room. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, conversational, terrifying in its calmness. "Murder? That's a very serious accusation, stepmother." He emphasized the last word like a curse. "Tell me—did you remember that law when you poisoned my father? When you smothered my mother with a pillow?"

The blood drained from Vivienne's face so completely she looked like a corpse herself.

Several guests exchanged uncertain glances. The mayor took a step back toward the exit.

"Lies!" Richard roared, but his voice lacked conviction. "These are insane accusations! You have no proof—"

"Proof?" Dominic laughed—a sound devoid of humor. "You want to talk about proof?" He turned slowly, addressing the entire ballroom. "Where was your concern for proof when you framed me five years ago? When you bribed the judge? When you threw me into prison on fabricated charges?"

Richard's mouth opened and closed like a fish drowning in air.

"No evidence," Dominic continued, his voice rising with each word. "No trial. No justice. Just lies and money and power crushing an innocent man." He took a step toward Richard, and the older man instinctively retreated. "You stole my inheritance. You murdered my parents. You destroyed my life. And now you dare—DARE—to hide behind the law you've spent five years breaking?"

"I—we never—the courts decided—" Richard's composure was shattering like glass under a hammer.

"The courts you OWNED!" Dominic's voice thundered through the hall. "The judges you PAID!" Tears suddenly streamed down his face, hot and unstoppable, but his expression remained hard as stone. "My mother begged for my life as you killed her. My father died thinking I was a monster. And you stand there in your expensive suit, surrounded by stolen wealth, and talk to me about EVIDENCE?!"

The ballroom was dead silent except for Dominic's ragged breathing.

Vivienne found her voice, shrill and desperate. "These accusations are illegal! Slander! You can't just—"

"ILLEGAL?!" Dominic's laugh was broken, jagged, bleeding. "You murdered my parents! You framed me! You sent men to desecrate their graves—" he gestured at Gregory's body, "—and you talk about ILLEGAL?!"

Richard's face went deathly pale. His eyes darted to the coffin, to Gregory's broken body, and the pieces clicked together with horrifying clarity. "The graves... you knew..."

"I know everything, Uncle." Dominic's voice dropped to something cold and final. "Every lie. Every crime. Every single sin you thought you'd buried."

Richard straightened, drawing on decades of ruthless business instincts. His fear transformed into rage—the dangerous kind, born of a cornered animal. "Enough of this!" He took a step forward. "I don't care what delusions you've convinced yourself of—"

He came at Dominic, ready to throw a punch.

He made it three steps before Webb was on him.

The kick came fast, caught Richard square in the gut and actually lifted him off the ground. He went flying back into one of the banquet tables. Champagne bottles went over, glasses scattered everywhere, and those little appetizers scattered across the floor. Richard ended up flat on his back in the mess, eyes glazed, barely hanging on.