Chapter 7 - BLOODLINE OF GREED
The white-hot glare of three tactical searchlights blinded Julian, casting long, nightmarish shadows across the rotting timbers of the old mill.
"Cover the exits!" a voice boomed through a megaphone from outside. "Alive or dead, get that drive!"
Four heavily armed men in black tactical gear breached the doorway, their assault rifles raised, night-vision goggles mounted on their helmets. But behind them walked a figure that made Julian’s blood run colder than the freezing rain outside.
He walked with a silver-topped cane, his posture erect, clad in a immaculate tailored charcoal overcoat. He was a man in his late sixties, with snowy white hair, a sharply trimmed beard, and piercing blue eyes that held the cold, calculating intelligence of a master chess player.
Arthur Vance.
Julian’s dead father.
Julian stood frozen in the center of the mill floor, his hand inches from his dropped pistol. He stared at the man who had buried him in expectations, the man whose empty coffin he had wept over ten years ago.
"Hello, Julian," Arthur said, his voice rich, resonant, and entirely lacking in warmth. He tapped his cane against the concrete floor with a rhythmic, metallic clack. "You look terrible. You always did lack the grace needed for field operations."
"You..." Julian rasped, blood leaking through his fingers onto his suit pants. "You monstrous son of a bitch. You're alive."
"Alive? I have never been more alive, my boy," Arthur smiled faintly, looking around the decaying mill with disdain. "Faking my death was the most efficient business decision I ever made. It allowed me to step out of the light of regulatory committees and take total command of the Syndicate. Vance Financial was merely the seed. The Syndicate is the tree that owns the world."
"You kidnapped Clara!" Julian roared, taking a violent step forward, but two tactical lasers immediately painted red dots across his chest. "You kept her in a drug-induced coma for seven years! You hunted your own grandson like an animal!"
Arthur sighed, a sound of mild disappointment, as if his son had failed a basic math test.
"Clara was a liability, Julian. She was an idealistic accountant who stumbled upon our offshore clearinghouses. She mistook global power for simple crime. I offered her a choice: join the system or disappear. She chose to steal the Obsidian file and hide that boy."
Arthur turned his sharp eyes upward, looking directly at Leo, who was clinging to the wooden rafter thirty feet above.
"And speaking of the boy..." Arthur continued smoothly. "He is my blood. A Vance. He belongs in a academy in Zurich, being trained to inherit what we built—not living like a rat in the sewers of New York. Hand over the drive, Julian. Don't make me kill my only son."
"He's not your blood," Julian spat, his eyes blazing with hatred. "He's Clara’s son. He’s my son. And he will never be like you."
"A touching sentiment," Arthur’s voice turned to stone. "Kill Julian. Secure the boy."
Before the guards could pull their triggers, Julian moved.
He didn't grab his gun—he grabbed the heavy iron winch cable hanging beside the grinding stone and pulled the emergency release lever!
A counterweight weighing three hundred pounds of rusted steel dropped instantly from the ceiling! The cable snapped taut, whipping through the air like a steel cobra, striking the lead contractor in the chest and hurling him across the room into the roaring waterwheel mechanism outside!
CRACK!
The waterwheel jammed with a violent shudder, metal grinding against stone, throwing sparks into the darkness!
"Fire!" Arthur yelled, stepping back into the shadow of the doorway.
Muzzle flashes strobed through the dark space as automatic weapons opened fire. Bullets chewed through the ancient wooden pillars, raining splinters down. Julian dove behind a heavy stone milling wheel, picking up his dropped pistol as he slid across the wet floor.
He aimed through the dust and sparks, firing three precise shots.
THWIP! THWIP! THWIP!
Two guards dropped, hit in the throat and chest. The third guard retreated toward the entrance, firing blindly.
"Leo! Jump!" Julian screamed, looking up at the rafters.
The wooden beams above were splintering under the heavy gunfire. One of the support pillars gave way with a sickening groan. The roof began to cave in!
Leo didn't hesitate. He wrapped his small arms around a hanging hemp rope used for hoisting grain sacks and swung out into the open space just as the rafter collapsed into a pile of rubble!
Julian lunged forward, catching his son out of the air as the rope reached the apex of its arc. They both slammed heavily onto the wooden floorboards, tumbling into the shadows near the back exit of the mill.
"Are you okay?" Julian checked the boy frantically, his hands covered in sweat and blood.
Leo nodded, his face pale, but his eyes fiercely steady. He squeezed the silver USB drive into Julian’s palm.
"Mom said... if you get this to the radio tower on Black Mountain... it broadcasts automatically," Leo whispered. "It shuts down their servers."
"Black Mountain," Julian repeated. "Okay. We move now."
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Behind them, Arthur’s cold voice echoed over the sound of the burning wood and the rushing river.
"You can't run from your own blood, Julian! The Syndicate owns every road, every bridge, every mountain! You're already dead!"
