Chapter 13 - The Second Trap
Arthur walked over to the heavy dark walnut wardrobe sitting in the corner of the suite's hallway—a near-identical replica of the closet from the West Wing.
He pulled the double doors open, exposing the dark velvet-lined interior.
"Step inside, Victoria," Arthur said softly, gesturing toward the open closet. "Let me show you what you missed in Chicago."
Victoria didn't move. Her body was coiled like a steel spring, every tactical instinct screaming at her that this was the moment the trap would spring shut.
"I'm not getting into a closet with you, Arthur," she said.
"It's not a trap," Arthur replied gently. "It's an exchange. Look inside the floor panel."
Victoria kept her eyes locked on Arthur as she took two cautious steps closer to the open wardrobe. She glanced down into the shadows of the lower shelf.
Lying inside the bottom of the closet was a thick, leather-bound journal wrapped in a worn silk ribbon—the true, unedited financial ledgers of Vance Enterprises, containing the names of dozens of international political figures, judges, and corporate leaders who had taken illegal payouts from the Vance family for over twenty years.
"That journal is worth fifty million dollars on the black market," Arthur said quietly, stepping back to give her space. "It's your retirement fund, Victoria. Take it, walk out that door, and we never see each other again."
"Why give it to me?" Victoria asked, her suspicion unabated. "Why not keep it as leverage?"
"Because you protected Lily," Arthur said, his voice dropping into a sincere, quiet tone that carried no mockery or deception. "In that nursery, when Julian pointed a gun at you, you put your body between the bullet and my daughter. You aren't just an asset, Victoria. You have a soul. That makes you far too dangerous to keep as an enemy, and far too rare to kill."
Victoria looked at the heavy leather journal, then up at Arthur.
Before she could reach down to touch the book, the heavy oak entrance door of Suite 412 crashed open with a violent thud.
Three men in dark tactical suits, armed with suppressed submachine guns, burst into the hallway of the suite.
"Nobody move!" the lead operative shouted, raising his weapon.
Arthur's eyes went wide with genuine shock. He hadn't ordered this team. The calm, controlling mastermind facade shattered instantly.
"Who the hell are you?" Arthur yelled, reaching for his desk drawer.
"Down on the floor! Now!" the lead operative barked, firing a short burst into the ceiling plaster. Dust and white powder rained down over the crystal chandelier.
Victoria reacted instantly. She didn't drop to the floor. She grabbed the heavy wooden closet door, swinging it outward with blinding speed, slamming it hard into the face of the nearest operative.
The man stumbled back, his gun discharging wildly into the floorboards.
Victoria grabbed Arthur by his collar, dragging him down behind the heavy marble-topped island in the center of the suite as a hail of suppressed gunfire shredded the dark velvet curtains and shattered the balcony glass.
"I thought you controlled everything!" Victoria screamed over the deafening noise of gunfire.
"I didn't call them!" Arthur shouted back, pressing his hand against his bleeding arm where a stray bullet had grazed his skin. "This isn't my team!"
Victoria looked out from behind the marble island, watching the two remaining operatives advance down the narrow hallway.
On the vest of the lead operative was a small silver lapel pin—a stylized eagle wrapped in a circle.
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Victoria’s blood went cold. She recognized that crest immediately. It was the private security emblem of Vance Global Shipping—the subsidiary company that had belonged exclusively to Eleanor Vance.
Eleanor hadn't surrendered from her prison cell in Chicago. The matriarch had deployed her private mercenaries to eliminate both Arthur and Victoria in a single, clean sweep across the Atlantic.
