Chapter 16 - The Siege on Greenwich
Before I could ask another question, the line went dead.
"Brendan? Brendan!"
A piercing electronic beep signaled the disconnection. I dialed back immediately, but an automated voice informed me that the Arizona subscriber was out of service.
"What did he say?" Liam demanded, swerving the SUV into our neighborhood street.
"He said Victoria is running from a syndicate," I breathed, panic finally breaking through my emotional armor. "She's not trying to run an empire, Liam. She needs fifty million dollars in liquid cash to pay off a kill contract. That’s why she filed an emergency expedited settlement petition—she wants a quick buyout from us to make the lawsuit go away!"
We pulled up to our estate gates.
The iron gates were wide open.
The security booth was abandoned. The monitors inside the small guardhouse were smashed, their blue LCD screens cracked and leaking black ink.
"Vance!" Liam slammed the car into park, drawing his licensed firearm from the glove compartment. "Stay in the car, Sarah! Lock the doors!"
"Lila is in that house with Arthur!" I screamed, opening my door without hesitation, completely ignoring the pain shooting down my lower back.
We ran up the stone driveway toward the front entrance. The heavy oak doors were ajar, splintered around the deadbolts.
Inside, the grand foyer was dead silent.
"Arthur!" Liam roared, clearing the corners with his weapon raised.
From the top of the sweeping spiral staircase, a faint, terrified sob drifted down.
"Mommy?"
Lila was sitting on the top step, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit, her tiny cheeks soaked with tears.
I rushed up the stairs as fast as my pregnant body allowed, scooping my two-year-old into my arms, burying my face in her curly hair. She was shaking like a leaf.
"Where is Grandpa Arthur?" I asked, wiping her tears with my sleeve.
Lila pointed her small, trembling finger toward the basement door at the end of the hallway. "Bad men in black coats took Grandpa into the wine cellar. They said if anyone screams, they will burn the house down."
Liam approached the basement landing, gun drawn, his face pale with fury.
Before he could touch the handle, the basement door swung open on its own.
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Stepping out into the light wasn't a hitman. It was a tall, silver-haired man wearing an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, holding a silver pocket watch in one hand and a silenced Beretta in the other. Behind him, Arthur sat tied to a wooden chair, a deep gash over his forehead, bleeding onto his linen shirt.
"Put the gun on the carpet, Mr. Vance," the silver-haired man said in a soft, aristocratic Italian accent. "Or my associate downstairs puts a hollow-point through your butler’s lungs."
