Chapter 20 - The Unbroken Throne
"Lock down the interior panic doors!" I shouted into the radio, my hands gripping the wheels of my titanium chair as I spun around to face the double doors of my study.
"Already on it, Danny!" Luke replied. "We've got twenty men in the main foyer. But—"
The radio feed cut out with a burst of static.
The heavy oak doors of my study didn't just open—they splintered into a million pieces as a breaching charge blew the reinforced hinges off the frame. A wave of concussive force knocked books from the shelves and sent glass shattering across the Persian rug.
Through the billowing smoke, three figures in matte-black tactical gear surged into the room, their assault rifles raised. But behind them walked a man who didn't wear body armor.
He wore an impeccably tailored Italian wool suit, silver hair framing a sharp, aristocratic face that mirrored my own bone structure. Julian Vance.
He stepped over the ruined wreckage of the door, holding a silver-handled cane, looking around the grand study with an expression of mild, amused condescension.
"Well, well, Danny," Julian smiled, his voice smooth and chillingly calm. "I must admit, you’ve decorated the tomb quite nicely. But a tomb is still a tomb."
I didn't answer. I didn't reach for the gun beneath my desk. Instead, my hands rested steadily on the armrests of my wheelchair, my eyes locked onto his with cold, absolute lethargy.
"You should have stayed dead, Julian," I said, my voice cutting through the smoke like a blade of ice.
"Family obligations, my dear cousin," Julian replied, stepping closer, motioning for his mercenaries to fan out across the room. "The Vance empire cannot be divided. Hand over the controlling shares of the corporation, sign over the estate, and perhaps I’ll let you and your little... assistant here live out your remaining days in a comfortable exile."
Emma didn't flinch. She stepped forward, standing directly beside my wheelchair, placing one hand firmly on my shoulder while her other hand slid silently into the pocket of her tailored suit jacket—where a heavy, customized SIG Sauer rested against her palm.
"He's not signing anything," Emma said, her voice ringing out crystal clear and steady in the ruined study.
Julian chuckled, a dry, mocking sound. "My dear girl, loyalty is a charming trait, but it has a very short shelf life when staring down the barrel of a gun."
"You think this is about loyalty?" I asked, a dark, dangerous smile slowly spreading across my face as I pressed a hidden toggle beneath the armrest of my titanium chair.
Julian frowned. "What did you do?"
"I told you, Julian," I whispered. "You're not the only monster who knows how to build an empire."
From the ceiling above, the hidden security grates slid open with a sharp mechanical hiss, dropping four heavy tactical flash-bang charges directly into the center of the room.
Before Julian’s mercenaries could raise their weapons, the room erupted into a blinding, deafening roar of light and concussive sound.
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The battle for the throne was over before it even began. My fortress wasn't a tomb—it was a trap. And as Luke and our security detail swarmed into the ruined study through the reinforced side corridors, pinning Julian’s men to the floor in seconds, I rolled my chair forward until I stopped inches from my cousin’s stunned, dust-covered face.
"Welcome home, Julian," I said softly. "Now get out of my house."
