Chapter 4 - The Breach at the Gate
Julian was out of his chair in a second. He reached into the bottom drawer of the oak desk, pulling out a sleek black 9mm handgun, checking the magazine with a mechanical, practiced flick of his wrist.
"Elena, go up to Noah's room. Lock the door from the inside and do not open it for anyone unless you hear my voice," Julian commanded, his tone leaving zero room for argument.
"Understood, sir," Elena said smoothly. She turned and moved toward the staircase with quiet, efficient speed.
Julian moved through the darkened corridors of the estate like a ghost. The power to the main wing suddenly flickered and died, plunging the vast halls into pitch blackness, illuminated only by the periodic flashes of lightning from the storm outside. The sound of rain beating against the glass had turned into a roar.
He reached the security control room near the rear entrance. The door was slightly ajar.
Julian raised the firearm, rounding the frame with his back against the wall. Inside, the wall of monitors was dark, their screens displaying static gray noise. The security officer was slumped over the main console, unconscious but breathing, a clean dark welt visible at the base of his skull.
On the desk beside the fallen guard lay a familiar object: a small, white silk ribbon—the exact ribbon Victoria had used to tie her hair back earlier that afternoon.
She hadn't fled the city. She had waited for darkness.
A floorboard creaked above him—directly in the gallery leading to Sarah's locked study.
Julian didn't hesitate. He slipped out of the security room and moved up the servant stairs, his rubber-soled shoes making no sound against the iron steps. His heart hammered in his chest, not with fear, but with an icy, lethal rage. Victoria hadn't just stolen money; she was coming back to destroy whatever evidence was left hidden in Sarah's private papers.
As he reached the landing of the second floor, a flash of lightning lit up the long hallway.
At the end of the corridor, standing in front of the heavy rosewood door of Sarah's study, was a tall figure in a black trench coat. The figure held a high-powered cordless drill, working systematically on the antique brass lock mechanism.
"Drop it," Julian barked, stepping into the center of the hall, pointing the 9mm straight at the intruder's back.
The figure froze. Slowly, deliberately, the person turned around, raising their hands into the pale moonlight streaming through the skylight.
It wasn't Victoria.
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It was a man—tall, lean, with razor-sharp facial features and cold, vacant gray eyes. He wore a dark tactical turtleneck, and around his neck hung a silver medallion bearing the crest of the Geneva pharmaceutical firm Julian had been researching just twenty minutes earlier.
"You're late, Mr. Vance," the man said in a smooth, unhurried European accent. "Victoria was supposed to have cleared this room out hours ago. But it seems she let her temper get the better of her."
