Chapter 3 - The Visitor in the RainThe man at the bottom of the stairs didn't look like a debt collector, nor did he look like a municipal social worker. He wore an expensive Italian wool coat that had been ruined by the downpour, and his wet hair was plastered against a skull scarred by a jagged, pale line running from his temple into his collar.
Gideon didn't wait for Sienna to buzz him in. He tapped the master override on his desk, clicking the heavy electromagnetic lock on the stairwell door.
"Stay here," Gideon told Sienna, his hand sliding automatically toward the heavy brass paperweight on his desk before he checked himself. He wasn't a brawler; he was a chess player. But looking at the stranger's posture—balanced, rigid, eyes fixed like a sniper locking onto a target—this wasn't a social call.
As Gideon descended the spiral staircase into the showroom, the two girls on the sofa tensed. Ren didn't scream. She grabbed Nova’s wrist, pulling her deeper into the cushions of the Chesterfield, her eyes locking onto the man by the door with a terrifying, feral alertness.
"Can I help you, sir?" Gideon asked, stepping onto the showroom floor, placing his body physically between the stranger and the children. "We’re closed for private inventory audit."
The man smiled, but his eyes were dead, wet stones. "Are you, Mr. Hail? Or are you just playing foster father to a pair of expensive little keys?"
The stranger’s voice was gravelly, rich with an East Coast accent that smelled of stale bourbon and old money. He took two slow steps forward, his wet leather shoes squeaking against the polished floorboards.
"My name is Julian Vance," the man said, tilting his head. "And those little girls sitting on your expensive couch? They’re my nieces. Or, more accurately, they're the collateral my brother left behind before he decided to play hide-and-seek with the FBI."
Gideon didn't blink. His brain calculated the distance, the exits, the security feed transmitting directly to the Seattle Police Department's precinct downtown. "If you're their uncle, Mr. Vance, why were they standing in the freezing rain for twenty minutes while you watched from across the street?"
Julian’s smile didn't reach his eyes. It widened, showing teeth too white and too even to be natural. "Because, Mr. Hail, children need to learn early what happens when you wander off from the pack. Besides... I wanted to see who would take the bait. I saw your security feed ping when you walked down here. You couldn't resist saving them, could you? Just like a good little tech savior."
Behind Gideon, Ren’s small voice cut through the air like a razor blade.
"He’s lying," Ren said.
Gideon didn’t turn around, but he raised a hand slightly behind him, signaling silence. "Why would he lie, Ren?"
"That’s not Uncle Julian," Nova spoke up, her voice trembling but clear. "Uncle Julian has a gold tooth in the back. And he smells like smoke. That man smells like peppermint and bleach. Like the basement."
Julian Vance’s smile vanished. The mask of polite menace cracked, revealing a frantic, jagged edge. He lunged forward, his hand diving into the pocket of his wet coat.
"Give me the pack, you little rats!" Julian roared, abandoning all pretense.
Gideon moved with a speed that surprised even himself. He sidestepped, grabbed a heavy mahogany display stand laden with hand-carved nutcrackers, and hurled it directly into Julian’s path. The crash echoed through the vaulted ceiling as wood splintered and ceramic heads shattered across the floor.
Julian tripped over the debris, slamming hard into a velvet display case. Glass exploded outward in a glittering wave.
"Sienna!" Gideon shouted, pinning Julian's arm behind his back with a vicious, clinical efficiency he hadn't used since his college wrestling days. "Trigger the silent alarm! Code red! Now!"
May you like
The store’s interior transformed instantly. Amber lights snapped to a piercing, clinical white. Emergency shutters slammed down over the front windows with a thunderous bang, locking the glass behind steel plates.
Julian twisted beneath Gideon’s grip, laughing hysterically as blood trickled from a cut on his forehead. "You think steel plates can keep out what’s coming, Hail? You think Marcus left his money in a bank account? Those girls are the encryption key. And you just locked yourself inside the vault with them."
