Chapter 6 - THE AMBUSH IN THE EAST WING
The heavy oak door burst inward with a deafening crack.
Julian Vane stepped into the room first, his silenced pistol raised, flanked by two large enforcers carrying heavy leather tactical bags.
“Drop the gun, Uncle!” Julian sneered, stepping over the shattered doorframe. “It’s four against one! You don't have your private security team anymore!”
BANG!
A deafening gunshot echoed through the high-ceilinged bedroom as Elias fired without a moment’s hesitation.
The bullet struck the heavy wooden doorframe an inch from Julian’s left ear, showering his face with razor-sharp splinters. Julian shrieked in terror, diving behind the marble dresser near the hallway entrance as his two enforcers scattered to take cover behind the leather sofa.
“You missed, old man!” Julian shouted from behind the dresser, wiping blood from his ear.
“I didn't miss, Julian!” Elias called out, his voice smooth, cold, and entirely devoid of fear. “I put the first round where your head was two seconds ago! The next round goes through your heart!”
From behind the sofa, one of the enforcers raised a heavy crowbar, preparing to rush around the side of the mahogany bed frame to flank Elias’s position.
Hannah didn't think. She didn't calculate.
She stepped out from behind Elias’s chair, swung the heavy iron fireplace poker with all the strength in her narrow shoulders, and struck the enforcer squarely across his knee with a brutal, sickening CRACK.
The man screamed in agony, his leg collapsing beneath him as he crashed onto the floor, dropping his crowbar.
Before the second enforcer could turn his weapon toward her, Elias leaned over the bed frame and fired twice.
The heavy 9mm rounds struck the second man in his shoulder and chest, knocking him backward through the shattered doorway into the hallway, where he lay motionless on the Persian rug.
Julian scrambled backward toward the hallway, his face pale with absolute panic. He hadn't expected an invalid in a wheelchair and a hundred-and-six-pound maid to fight back with lethal, coordinated precision.
“Retreat! Get back to the car!” Julian screamed to the remaining men outside in the hallway.
Julian turned and sprinted down the east wing corridor toward the servant stairs, his boots slipping on the polished wainscoting.
Elias rapidly disengaged his safety, checking his remaining rounds.
“Hannah!” Elias called out, his eyes gleaming with fierce tactical adrenaline. “Push my chair into the corridor!”
Hannah grabbed the rubber hand-rims of his wheelchair, using her whole body weight to propel him through the shattered doorway into the long, dark hallway.
At the far end of the corridor, near the grand archway leading down to the foyer, Marcus Vane stood waiting, holding a leather briefcase filled with forged power-of-attorney documents.
When Marcus saw his nephew fleeing in terror, followed by the sight of Elias rolling forward into the hall with a smoking pistol in his hand and Hannah standing resolutely behind him, the silver-haired brother went completely rigid with shock.
“Marcus!” Elias shouted, his deep voice carrying through the sprawling mansion like a thunderclap. “You came to my house to steal my name!”
Marcus stepped backward toward the grand staircase, his smooth, polished persona evaporating entirely into pathetic desperation.
“Elias... wait!” Marcus stammered, holding his hands up. “This was Julian’s idea! I was only trying to protect the family assets!”
“You sold your own brother out to common thugs,” Elias said, bringing his wheelchair to a stop fifteen feet away, keeping his pistol leveled directly at Marcus’s chest. “You’re done, Marcus. The board will have your formal resignation by noon, or I will hand the federal grand jury the financial wire records from your offshore account in the Cayman Islands.”
Marcus looked at the cold, unyielding iron in his brother’s eyes. He looked at Hannah, whose face was stained with soot and sweat, holding the blood-stained iron poker across her chest like a warrior guardian.
Marcus dropped his leather briefcase onto the marble floor.
“I’m leaving,” Marcus whispered, his voice trembling.
May you like
“You’re leaving Chicago,” Elias corrected flatly. “If I ever see your face on Vane property again, I won't fire a warning shot.”
Marcus turned and fled down the grand staircase, his heavy footsteps echoing into the cold dark morning until the front iron doors slammed shut, leaving the east wing in complete, peaceful silence.
