Chapter 7 - The Siege of the Estate“What is that?” I snapped, spinning around toward the shattered window.
Elena was already moving, diving across the floor to scoop up Vance’s encrypted tablet that had fallen from his pocket during the taser strike. Her fingers flew across the glass screen with terrifying speed, lines of green code flashing across the display in a blur.
“It’s not just a cleanup crew,” Elena cursed, her face turning chalk-white. “Vance had a secondary tactical unit parked three miles down the highway on a dead-man timer. When his vitals dropped below a certain threshold—which just happened when I tased him—the backup protocol automatically activated.”
A deafening explosion rocked the southern wing of the mansion.
The floor beneath our feet shook violently, sending picture frames crashing to the floor and shattering antique porcelain vases down the hall. Sirens wailed to life throughout the estate as the automated fire suppression systems hissed and dumped streams of white foam across the lower levels.
“They’re blowing the reinforced perimeter walls,” Elena said, looking up from the tablet. “They aren't here to rescue him anymore. They’re here to erase the entire estate. Every server, every witness, every piece of evidence.”
“We need to get to the panic shelter in the basement,” I said, stepping forward and immediately scooping Maisie and Rosie out of their cribs, holding both babies tightly against my chest.
“The main elevator is disabled by the EMP blast,” Elena warned, grabbing her tactical harness and tossing Vance’s unconscious body over her shoulder with surprising strength. “We have to take the service stairs behind the master walk-in closet.”
“Move!” I ordered.
We bolted out of the nursery, racing down the smoke-filled hallway as thick gray billows began to pour up from the stairwells below. The mansion I had built as an impenetrable fortress of wealth had suddenly become a towering, burning cage.
As we reached the master suite, a deafening burst of automatic gunfire peppered the exterior french doors. Bullets tore through the expensive silk drapes, chewing up the mahogany flooring inches from my feet.
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“Down!” Elena shouted, tackling me and the twins behind the heavy, steel-reinforced oak bedframe just as a barrage of high-caliber rounds shredded the bedroom wall.
Through the haze of smoke and flying debris, the bedroom door was kicked inward with brutal force. Two heavily armed mercenaries in full tactical gear stepped into the room, their suppressed rifles raised and sweeping the space for targets.
