flash
The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure terminal on my desk flashed a violent crimson. I hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, my eyes burning from staring at columns of ghost figures, duplicate invoices, and shell corporations linked to Dominic Rossi. But the red alert wasn’t from Rossi’s faction. It was an internal security flag originating from the estate’s main vault deep beneath the west wing. / Chapter 7 / 8

Chapter 17 - The Final BulletBefore Arthur’s thumb could complete the downward stroke, I didn't aim for him. I swung my submachine gun upward and fired a short, controlled burst directly into the helicopter’s hydraulic rotor stabilization arm.

RAT-TAT-TAT.

Sparks showered across the tarmac as the heavy metal casing shattered. The helicopter lurched violently to the left, the main rotor blades clipping the concrete railing with a deafening screech of rending titanium and carbon fiber.

In the split-second distraction, Anna wrenched her arm free from Arthur’s grip, throwing her weight backward and sweeping his legs out from under him.

Arthur tumbled hard onto the slick concrete, dropping the detonator as it skidded across the edge of the pier and splashed uselessly into the dark, churning waters of the lake.

“Now, Sarah!” I yelled.

Sarah didn't hesitate. She fired a single shot that struck the concrete inches from Arthur’s outstretched hand, pinning him in place as the disabled helicopter’s engine caught fire in a billowing ball of black smoke and roaring flames.

I sprinted across the tarmac, shoving past the stunned masked operative before he could raise his rifle, and scooped little Lily into my arms.

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The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scattering the light from the chandeliers. The muffled laughter died instantly, replaced by a suffocating, heavy silence that crept outward from the grand staircase.

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scatter...

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking out the clinical, terrifying silence of the kitchen. Evelyn Crane stood stiffly in front of my mahogany desk, her hands folded over her apron with the rigid precision of someone who had spent decades micromanaging every square inch of my estate. Behind her, Norah hovered near the doorway, clutching her clipboard like a shield.

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking...

The silence in the living room stretched so thin I could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen down the hall.

The silence in the living room stretched so thin I could hear the hum of...

“I got you,” I panted, pulling Anna close with my other arm as we scrambled away from the burning aircraft.

Behind us, federal sirens finally wailed through the iron gates of the estate, red and blue lights reflecting off the dark waters of Lake Michigan as a dozen tactical cruisers swarmed the pier.

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