Chapter 3 - The Gatehouse Siege
Wyatt did not pull a weapon. He pulled out a black leather ledger—Helena Northcott’s personal, hand-bound financial journal, embossed with the family crest.
Victor Vance’s smirk instantly vanished.
"Where did you get that?" Vance demanded, his voice losing its arrogant edge.
"Grandmother kept it in the false bottom of her vanity drawer," Wyatt said coldly. "The same vanity where Phoebe saw the lockbox. You were so busy stealing the antidote vials that you forgot Helena cataloged every single off-ledger transaction she ever made. Including the fifty-million-dollar wire transfer sent to an offshore shell corporation registered under your sister’s name in the Caymans three days ago."
Damon froze. He turned his gaze toward Vance, the air around him crackling with lethal intensity. "Victor. You told me the missing foundation funds were tied up in European bonds."
"Damon, he’s playing you!" Vance barked, taking a step back toward his two armed guards. "The boy is siding with the woman who seduced you after Celeste walked out! You’re going to let a college kid dismantle this family’s legacy?"
"He's not a boy. He's my heir," Damon said, his voice dropping into the terrifying register he reserved for men about to die. "And you have five seconds to explain why my mother wired you fifty million dollars before she swallowed a lethal dose of digitalis."
"I don't have to explain anything to a man blinded by his pregnant whore," Vance hissed.
He snapped his fingers.
The two guards reached for their sidearms, but Micah moved like lightning. With the explosive speed of a Division I athlete, Micah tackled the first guard into the heavy mahogany display cabinet. Glass shattered in a deafening cascade of crystal decanters and heirloom porcelain. Micah pinned the man’s gun arm to the floor, driving his knee into the guard’s ribs with a sickening crack.
The second guard leveled his pistol straight at Eliza’s chest.
"Move and she dies!" the guard screamed.
Before the man could pull the trigger, Delaney grabbed the heavy brass banker’s lamp from Helena’s desk and swung it with all her strength. The base collided with the side of the guard’s skull. The weapon discharged into the ceiling, raining plaster down on the library, before the man collapsed unconscious onto the rug.
"Out!" Wyatt shouted, grabbing Eliza’s arm to steady her. "We have to move now! Vance’s men have the perimeter!"
Damon drew his Beretta, aiming straight at Vance’s forehead. "Don't move, Victor."
Vance didn't flinch. Instead, a grim, mocking smile spread across his lips. He pressed a button on the small radio transponder pinned to his lapel.
"Code Red at the main house," Vance said calmly into the mic. "The boss has been compromised by the wife. Lockdown the estate. No vehicles leave."
Through the tall windows, a deep siren began to wail across the Northcott grounds, cutting through the drumming rain. It was the tactical alarm—the protocol designed for hostile federal raids or rival cartel hits.
"You fool," Damon whispered, realizing the trap. "You've turned my own security force against me."
"Helena built the security protocol, Damon," Dr. Rusk said from the open doorway. Rusk had already stepped into the hallway, flanked by three more armed mercenaries in tactical vests. "And in the event of her unnatural death, command authority defaults to the chair of the board. That’s me."
Rusk signaled the mercenaries. "Secure the boss. Terminate the pregnant threat. Take the children into protective custody."
"Run!" Damon roared.
In a single, fluid motion, Damon fired twice. The two bullets struck the tactical vests of the mercenaries advancing in the hall, throwing them backward. Damon kicked the heavy library doors shut, throwing the iron deadbolt into place. Heavy rounds immediately began splintering the thick oak from the corridor outside.
Eliza gasped, clutching her abdomen as a sharp, agonizing wave of pain tore through her pelvis.
"Eliza!" Phoebe caught her around the waist, tears streaming down the younger girl's face. "Eliza, what’s wrong?"
"Contractions," Eliza managed through clenched teeth, sweat beading on her forehead. "The stress... Alexander is coming early."
Damon turned, his eyes wild, the gun smoking in his hand. The sight of Eliza doubled over, surrounded by his children who were shielding her with their own bodies, shattered whatever lingering suspicion remained in his chest.
"The service tunnel," Damon ordered Wyatt, his voice urgent, stripped of pride. "Behind the wine cellar. It leads to the old carriage house past the security gate. Take her. Go!"
"We're not leaving you," Delaney snapped. "They have fifty men out there, Dad!"
"I'm not asking, Delaney!" Damon yelled over the sound of bullets tearing through the door panels. "Wyatt, take your mother and get out of here!"
Wyatt froze for a fraction of a second. It was the first time in thirteen years Damon had ever referred to Eliza as their mother.
May you like
"Not without you," Wyatt said firmly, his jaw set in the exact likeness of his father's. "You want to be part of this family again, Damon? Then you carry her. Because we don't leave anyone behind. Not anymore."
***
