Chapter 12 - THE WOLF IN THE HALLWAYFour heavily armed mercenaries, clad in black tactical gear and wearing night-vision goggles, breached the second-floor landing. Their movements were precise, disciplined, and utterly lethal. They swept their assault rifles back and forth, clearing each room methodically.
As the lead operative stepped past the master bedroom corridor, a floorboard clicked under his boot—not from wood, but from a pressure plate rigged by Arthur’s security team.
Click.
Before the mercenary could react, a flashbang grenade detonated from the ceiling corner, blinding his night-vision lenses and filling the hallway with a disorienting, piercing shriek.
From the shadows of the study doorway, Arthur moved with ruthless efficiency. Two quick, suppressed shots echoed through the corridor. The lead operative crumpled instantly, falling hard against the Persian rug.
"Contact! Target is armed!" shouted the second mercenary in fluent German, swinging his rifle toward the muzzle flash.
Arthur slid behind a marble pillar just as a barrage of high-caliber bullets chewed through the stone, sending white dust and marble chips flying into the air. He didn't hesitate. Calculating the trajectory through the reflection of a polished antique mirror, he blind-fired twice around the pillar.
Thud. Thud.
Two more mercenaries hit the floor. The fourth operative, realizing they had walked into a slaughterhouse rather than an easy extraction, turned and sprinted toward the balcony doors.
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Arthur didn't chase him. He watched through the security monitor as the lone survivor scrambled over the wrought-iron railing and dropped into the flooded bushes below, fleeing into the stormy night like a terrified dog.
Arthur let out a slow, controlled breath, his pulse steady. The message had been delivered. The Vance household was no longer an easy target. It was a fortress.
