Chapter 4 - The Black Escalade
Wood splinters and dust rained down through the dark hallway.
Naomi screamed as I slammed my body over hers, taking the impact of the falling plaster against my back. The smell of smoke and gunpowder filled the air instantly.
Through the haze, three tactical figures dressed in black gear, carrying short-barreled automatic weapons, burst into the apartment. Red laser sights swept across the brick walls, cutting through the dark like crimson blades.
“GET DOWN!” Roman roared.
He didn't hesitate. He tackled the first gunman, grabbing the barrel of the weapon and shoving it toward the ceiling just as a deafening burst of gunfire ripped through the drywall, shattering the hanging light fixtures above.
Evelyn grabbed my arm, her grip shockingly strong. “TO THE BACK! GO!”
I hauled Naomi into my arms, running blindly through the dark toward the service kitchen. Behind us, the sounds of brutal hand-to-hand combat echoed—glass breaking, heavy bodies slamming into furniture, and Roman shouting in pain.
We reached the small pantry at the back of the apartment. Evelyn kicked open a narrow metal door revealing a dark, rusted iron spiral staircase winding down into the building’s interior alley.
“Down! Move!” Evelyn ordered, shoving me toward the steps.
I scrambled down the stairs, my thrift-store flats slipping on the wet metal, my arms locked tightly around Naomi. She was crying hysterically, her small hands digging into my shirt.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
“I’ve got you, baby! I’ve got you!” I gasped, my chest burning, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would burst through my ribs.
Behind us, a heavy metallic thud rang out, followed by a grunt. I looked up. Roman was coming down the stairs behind us, his white shirt torn, blood streaming from a deep cut above his eyebrow, but he still had the silver thumb drive clutched in his hand.
“They were waiting in the lobby,” Roman panted, taking the steps three at a time. “Julian sent his private security firm. They’re not taking prisoners.”
We hit the bottom of the alleyway. The rain poured down on us in cold, heavy sheets. The narrow passage between the cast-iron buildings was littered with trash cans and wooden pallets.
At the end of the alley, blocking the street exit, sat a massive, black CADILLAC ESCALADE, its dark tinted windows reflecting the yellow glare of a distant streetlight.
The doors of the Escalade swung open.
Two men in dark suits stepped out, raising silenced handguns.
We were trapped. Behind us was the fire escape guarded by Julian’s tactical team. In front of us was the black Escalade.
Roman stepped in front of me and Naomi, spreading his arms to shield us. “Julian!” he shouted into the dark alley. “I know you’re in the car! Let the woman and the child go! They don't have the codes!”
The rear passenger window of the Escalade rolled down six inches.
Inside the dark interior, the silver hair of Julian Ashford glinted under the streetlight. He looked at his nephew with cold, disappointed eyes—the eyes of a man who viewed human beings purely as disposable assets.
“You always were weak, Roman,” Julian’s voice drifted out, smooth, aristocratic, and utterly devoid of mercy. “Your father was weak, and you inherited his sentimentality. You had everything—the name, the fortune, the legacy—and you threw it away for a maid and a street rat.”
“She is Marcus Vance’s daughter!” Roman screamed over the roar of the rain. “You killed her father!”
“Marcus Vance was a clerk who didn't know his place,” Julian said coldly. “And neither do you.”
Julian raised his gloved hand to give the signal to shoot.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling Naomi’s head into my chest, waiting for the sound of gunfire.
Instead, a deafening siren shattered the night air.
Red and blue lights exploded across the wet brick walls of the alley. Two unbadged black sedans screeched around the corner of Franklin Street, blocking the Escalade from behind. Armed men in dark blue vests emblazoned with FBI surged out, weapons raised.
“FEDERAL AGENTS! DROP YOUR WEAPONS! DROP THEM NOW!”
The two men outside the Escalade froze. Julian’s eyes widened in sudden, absolute shock.
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Evelyn Vance stepped out from behind a stack of wooden pallets near the alley entrance, holding a satellite phone to her ear. She looked at Julian Ashford with a cold, triumphant smile.
“Deputy US Attorney Sarah Mercer sends her regards, Julian,” Evelyn called out, her voice ringing clearly through the storm. “We tapped Roman’s phone two hours ago. We knew exactly when your men left the Plaza.”
