Chapter 11 - The Second Incursion
Panic didn't paralyze Robert Ellington; it focused him. Years of navigating high-stakes corporate warfare had taught him that when an adversary struck twice, it was out of desperation, not strength.
"Lock all interior doors between the east wing and the main hall, Maria," Robert commanded, his voice absolute and steady. "Keep Sam with you in the master panic room behind the library. Do not open it for anyone except me or David. Give me the passcode: Orion-Nine."
"Got it! Moving now!" Maria’s voice rang out, followed by the heavy, echoing thud of reinforced doors locking into place.
Robert turned to David, who was pacing the length of the study, his hands clutched in frustration.
"Thorne is locked in a federal holding facility in Manhattan," David said, bewildered. "How could he coordinate an attack? Who is out there?"
"Not Thorne," a cool, calm voice echoed from the doorway.
Elizabeth wheeled herself into the study, her expression carved from absolute ice. In her lap rested a heavy, matte-black tactical shotgun—an old Remington 870 that Robert had kept in the estate armory for decades.
Robert stared at his wife in astonishment. "Elizabeth... where did you get that?"
"You think I spent my entire life managing high-value real estate without learning how to protect it?" Elizabeth said dryly, checking the safety switch with practiced ease. "Marcus Thorne was just the public face of a much larger syndicate, Robert. When he fell, whoever was funding his offshore accounts lost access to Project Prometheus. They aren't trying to steal it anymore. They're here to eliminate anyone who knows it exists."
The realization hit Robert like a physical blow. The syndicate wasn't just a corporate rival; it was an international cyber-arms network.
CRASH!
The distinct, violent sound of shattering glass echoed from the ground floor, originating from the sunroom on the eastern wing. Heavy footsteps—not the stealthy tread of tactical mercenaries, but the heavy, desperate rush of armed amateurs—pounded across the hardwood floors of the parlor.
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"They're inside," David whispered, his eyes wide with fear for his son.
"Good," Elizabeth said, her blue eyes flashing with dangerous resolve. "Because this time, we aren't waiting for the federal cavalry. We're setting the terms."
