Chapter 13 - The Ghost in the Sub-Basement
The air in the subterranean corridor felt thick, heavy with the metallic tang of ozone and old dust. My finger rested lightly against the trigger of my Glock, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped animal.
The man standing in the doorway of the panic room wore a tailored dark suit that was slightly rumpled, his silver-streaked dark hair pushed back messily from his forehead. A sickening, familiar smirk played across his thin lips—a smile I had memorized during the bitterest corporate proxy battles of my early career.
"Put the gun down, Dante," Julian Vance said, his voice dripping with an infuriating, oily calm. "Unless, of course, you want to explain to the federal authorities why you just executed an unarmed man who holds the controlling debt on half your real estate portfolio."
Marcus Vance’s older brother. The brilliant, ruthless mastermind who had allegedly died in a fiery private plane crash over the Alps five years ago.
"You're dead," I growled, the barrel of my gun not wavering a single millimeter. "I attended your funeral. I saw the wreckage."
"Plane crashes are so terribly messy and easy to fake when you have billions of dollars and a corrupt Swiss aviation board on your payroll," Julian chuckled softly, taking a slow step out of the panic room. His eyes flicked past my shoulder, landing on Elise. A predatory glint sparked in his gaze. "Ah, and you must be the clever little nanny who managed to outsmart my incompetent younger brother Marcus. I must admit, your financial audits were quite impressive. Too bad you won't live long enough to spend the commission."
Before Julian could finish his sentence, Elise moved with blinding speed. Instead of cowering behind me, she reached out, grabbed a heavy brass fire extinguisher mounted to the corridor wall, and smashed it directly into the emergency alarm box beside the door.
*WEE-WOO! WEE-WOO!*
A deafening, crimson alarm siren blasted through the sub-basement, strobe lights flashing violently, blinding anyone without tactical goggles.
Julian cursed loudly, lunging forward to grab a heavy leather briefcase resting on the server desk.
I didn't hesitate. I closed the distance between us in two strides, holstering my weapon and driving my fist straight into Julian’s jaw with the full force of my pent-up rage and grief. The impact echoed like a gunshot through the corridor. Julian crashed backward over the steel desk, sending computer monitors and server cables flying in every direction.
"Declan! Secure the briefcase!" I roared, pinning Julian to the floor with my knee pressed firmly against his chest, my hands locked around the lapels of his suit jacket.
"Already on it, sir!" Declan shouted over the blaring siren, kicking the heavy leather briefcase away from Julian’s reach and ripping it open.
Inside sat a stack of physical paper files and encrypted hard drives—not just my financial records, but deeply personal medical files, birth certificates, and custody documents pertaining to Maisie and Rosie.
May you like
Julian spat a mouthful of blood onto the polished concrete floor, his eyes blazing with manic fury as he stared up at me. "You think you've won, Caruso? You think capturing me changes anything? Look at the files in that briefcase! Read the paternity addendum! Those little girls... they aren't even yours!"
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