Chapter 8 - The Price of VengeanceI pulled Matthew tightly against my chest, shielding his trembling body with my own as I spun around, raising my pistol toward the study door.
A tactical operative stepped through the threshold, rifle raised, ready to fire.
Before he could acquire his target, Clara lunged from behind the doorframe like a striking panther, driving the heavy iron fireplace poker with all her weight across the operative's knees. The man shrieked in agony, dropping his weapon as he crumpled to the floor.
I didn't hesitate. I stepped forward and delivered a swift, decisive strike with the butt of my pistol, knocking him unconscious.
"Get him down to the underground bunker now," I told Clara, handing her my spare pistol magazine. "Lock the heavy blast doors. Do not open them for anyone except me."
"Vincent, what are you going to do?" she asked, her eyes wide with alarm.
"I'm going to finish this," I said coldly.
I scooped Matthew up into my arms, carrying him down the emergency stairwell to the secure subterranean bunker where Clara quickly pulled him inside, locking the massive steel door behind them.
With my son safe, the cold, calculating fury of a man who had lost everything and nearly lost his remaining world took over.
I walked back up to the master security control room, sitting down at the main console. I bypassed the compromised firewall, isolated the estate's internal network, and activated the automated defensive lockdown protocols.
Every exterior security gate slammed shut, locking the entire perimeter into a high-voltage steel cage.
On the driveway monitor, I watched Marcus Vance stepping out of his idling getaway SUV, looking impatient and confident as he waited for his men to bring out my son.
I picked up the facility microphone, flipping the switch so my voice blasted through the exterior PA speakers across the entire courtyard.
"Marcus," I spoke, my voice echoing off the stone walls of the estate.
On the screen, Marcus stopped dead in his tracks, looking up wildly at the security cameras overhead.
"Vincent," he sneered into the cold air, thinking he still held all the cards. "Give it up, old friend. Your men are down, your safe room is breached. Surrender the ledger, and maybe I'll let you live out your days in a nursing home."
"You blew up my wife," I said softly, the words dripping with ice. "You crippled my son. And you thought you could walk away."
Before Marcus could answer, I pressed the master command key on my console.
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With a deafening roar, the heavy anti-ram steel bollards rose out of the driveway asphalt behind his SUV, completely blocking his exit. Simultaneously, the automated security turret systems—dummy-tested and loaded with non-lethal deterrents, augmented by my own personal enforcement team—swiveled down from the perimeter eaves.
"Men," I whispered into the mic. "Take them down."
