Chapter 6 - The Glass Conservatory
The penthouse conservatory was a sprawling glass dome filled with exotic tropical plants, marble fountains, and a sweeping view of the stormy lake below.
At the center of the room sat a massive glass table surrounded by four men in tailored Italian suits.
My brother, Dominic Vale, sat on the left, holding a crystal glass of bourbon, his face flushed, signing a stack of legal real estate deeds.
Across from him sat Julian Vance—forty-five years old, silver hair, impeccably groomed, wearing a three-piece suit, a cold, arrogant smile resting on his lips.
Four heavy security guards armed with submachine guns stood near the marble pillars.
“Sign page forty-two, Dominic,” Julian said smoothly, sliding a document across the table. “Once your brother’s body is identified in Miami, your executive power becomes absolute. The dock leases transfer to Vanguard, and your casino debts vanish by midnight.”
Dominic picked up the gold pen, his hands trembling slightly. “What about Marcus’s girls? Ava and the little ones? You promised they wouldn't be touched.”
Julian let out a soft, mocking chuckle. “Of course, Dominic. They’ll be taken care of in a private boarding school in Switzerland. You have my word.”
“He’s lying to you, Dom,” my voice echoed through the vast glass dome.
Dominic froze. The gold pen slipped from his fingers, clattering against the marble floor.
Julian’s eyes narrowed instantly as he snapped his head toward the entrance.
I walked out from behind a six-foot palm tree, my suppressed MP5 leveled directly at Julian’s forehead.
To my left, Claire stepped out from the shadows of the eastern pillar, her Glock covering the two guards near the fountain.
“Marcus?” Dominic gasped, his face turning paper-white, rising frantically from his chair. “Marcus! You... you were supposed to be in Miami! You’re dead!”
“I came home early, Dom,” I said, my voice dead, smooth, and cold as the winter storm outside. “I came home to find Ava bleeding on the kitchen floor from a bullet one of your men fired into her leg.”
Dominic stumbled back, horror washing over his face. “What? No! I never told them to shoot Ava! Thomas said—”
“Thomas is dead,” I interrupted flatly. “And you signed her execution warrant the second you took Julian’s money.”
Julian Vance didn't panic. He slowly leaned back in his leather chair, pouring himself a sip of scotch, looking at Claire with mild curiosity.
“Well, well,” Julian murmured, examining Claire’s tactical gear. “Captain Claire Vance. I thought my men burned you to ash in Kandahar eighteen months ago.”
Claire’s grip on her pistol didn't waver by a millimeter.
“You burned my field hospital, Julian,” Claire said, her voice dropping into a register of pure, icy fury. “You killed seven of my corpsmen to cover up an illegal weapons shipment. I promised myself I would live long enough to watch you lose everything.”
Julian smirked, setting his glass down. “You’re too late, Captain. My private security detail holds the entire building. One signal from my watch, and fifty men storm this room.”
Julian raised his left hand toward his face.
Phfft!
A suppressed shot echoed through the dome.
Julian’s watch exploded into a shower of twisted metal and electronic sparks. He let out a sharp cry of shock, clutching his bleeding wrist as the impact knocked his hand back onto the table.
May you like
Claire lowered her smoking barrel by half an inch.
“I was a sniper before I was a surgeon, Julian,” Claire whispered softly. “Try moving your hand again.”
