Chapter 7 - The Blood on the Marble
The roar of the medevac helicopter's rotor blades battered against the windows of the Greenwich estate as it touched down on the front lawn, tearing up patches of wet green grass and mud.
Within ninety seconds, two elite flight paramedics sprinted into the grand foyer, carrying a tactical trauma gurney and emergency resuscitation equipment.
Nathaniel did not let them touch Clare until he personally lifted her broken, blood-stained body onto the gurney. His hands were covered in her crimson blood, his tailored suit ruined, his eyes black pits of absolute, unhinged fury.
“Massive blunt force trauma!” the paramedic yelled over the deafening noise of the helicopter. “Signs of acute internal hemorrhage! Administering high-flow oxygen and IV tranexamic acid! We need to breach the trauma bay at Presbyterian Hospital in twelve minutes!”
Nathaniel walked beside the gurney, gripping Clare’s cold, lifeless right hand in his own, refusing to release her for a single fraction of a second.
As they reached the heavy front doors, Nathaniel paused.
He turned his head slowly, looking back into the foyer.
Douglas and Eleanor Ashcroft had walked halfway down the marble staircase, standing three steps above the pool of fresh blood staining the white floor. Eleanor’s hands were trembling violently, her aristocratic mask finally showing cracks of genuine terror as she looked at her son’s bloody figure.
Marcus Vance stepped up beside Nathaniel, pulling a heavy tactical hand radio from his vest.
“Vance,” Nathaniel said, his voice entirely flat, devoid of all human cadence, cold as an absolute arctic freeze.
“Yes, Boss?” Vance replied, his hand hovering over his sidearm.
“Lock down this estate,” Nathaniel commanded, never breaking eye contact with his father. “Nobody leaves this property. Not my father. Not my mother. Not the Bowmonts. If anyone attempts to breach the perimeter gates before I return, shoot their tires out and hold them in the basement.”
Douglas Ashcroft’s eyes widened in sudden, outrage shock. “Nathaniel! You have lost your mind! You cannot hold us hostage on our own property!”
Nathaniel stared at his father with a look so terrifyingly lethal that Douglas instinctively took a step backward onto the stairs.
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“You built an empire on violence and intimidation, Douglas,” Nathaniel whispered across the silent foyer. “Now you get to live inside it.”
He turned and ran out into the roaring wind, stepping into the medevac helicopter as the iron doors slammed shut and the aircraft lifted into the dark storm clouds toward Manhattan.
