Chapter 8 - The Dragon’s Den
At 2:00 AM, the Vance family mansion in the exclusive hills of Bedford was lit up like a Christmas tree.
Julian Vance sat in his luxurious glass conservatory, sipping vintage cognac, waiting for the phone call from Victor Hale confirming that the Ashcroft Comptroller and the covenant were gone forever.
Instead, the wrought-iron gates of his estate were rammed open by three black Ashcroft armored SUVs.
The heavy vehicles tore across the pristine front lawn, spraying mud and crushed roses over the marble fountain, coming to a halt directly outside the conservatory’s glass doors.
Julian jumped up from his leather chair, spilling his cognac across the rug, as fifteen armed Ashcroft guards poured out of the vehicles, surrounding the perimeter within seconds.
The glass doors of the conservatory were kicked open.
Lucian Ashcroft walked inside, holding a black umbrella over my head to shield me from the light drizzle. Behind us, two guards dragged Victor Hale, tossing him onto the Persian rug like a sack of dirty laundry.
Julian Vance backed away until his shoulders hit his mahogany desk, his face draining of all color. "Lucian... what is the meaning of this force?! You are trespassing on Vance territory!"
"You lost your territory two hours ago, Julian," Lucian said calmly, stepping into the warm room, lowering the umbrella.
Julian’s eyes widened as he saw me standing beside Lucian. I wore Lucian’s dark wool overcoat, my face clean, my chin held high, holding the oversized gray coat under my arm.
"You..." Julian stammered, pointing at me. "You're alive..."
"She is very much alive," Lucian said, stepping up to the desk. He pulled the yellowed covenant from his pocket and slapped it down on the glass desk with a loud THUD. "And she brought me your little treasure."
Julian looked down at the document. His hands trembled violently as he recognized his late father's writing. "The... the covenant..."
"Your sister, Bernice Vance, hid this document inside the coat twelve years ago to protect her daughter," I spoke up, my voice clear and firm. "You knew Victor Hale was hiding her in the Ashcroft staff quarters. You let your own sister live as a nameless servant because you didn't want to share the family estate with her!"
Julian looked at me with pure, unadulterated hatred. "Shut up, you stupid maid! You know nothing about family politics!"
CRACK!
Lucian’s fist slammed across Julian’s jaw, throwing the older man over his own desk, sending lamps and crystal glasses crashing to the floor.
Julian hit the floor, coughing up blood, holding his broken cheekbone.
Lucian leaned over the desk, his hands resting on the wood, his face inches from Julian’s terrifying eyes.
"Listen to me very carefully, Julian," Lucian whispered, his voice vibrating with absolute lethal power. "You tried to burn my Comptroller alive tonight. You bribed my guards. You conspired to destroy my family’s estate."
Lucian pulled a pen from his pocket, tossing it onto Julian’s chest.
"You have two choices right now," Lucian offered coldly. "Option one: You sign a complete release of all Vance Logistics harbor assets over to the Ashcroft Estate as war reparations. You take your family and leave the country by sunrise, never to return."
Julian gasped, blood dripping onto his silk shirt. "And... and option two?"
Lucian pulled his silver sidearm from his shoulder holster, racking the slide with a loud, metallic CLICK, pressing the cold barrel directly between Julian’s eyes.
"Option two is that Miss Quinn and I leave this room right now," Lucian said softly. "And Gideon cleans the rug."
A suffocating, terrible silence hung in the room for five long seconds. The only sound was the heavy rain beating against the glass roof and Julian’s frantic, wet gasps for air.
Julian looked at the cold steel barrel pressed against his forehead. Then he looked at me—the woman he had called a "pet project" twelve hours ago, now standing beside the ruler of the city’s underworld as his equal.
"Give me... give me the pen," Julian wept, his pride completely broken.
Ten minutes later, the signed transfer papers were in my leather portfolio. Julian Vance was on his knees, weeping in the ruins of his office, while his guards were stripped of their weapons outside.
As we walked back out to the SUV, Lucian stopped near the marble fountain.
He turned to me, taking the heavy gray wool coat from under my arm.
He looked at the torn seams, the yellowed tag, and the threadbare cuffs.
"Gideon," Lucian said.
May you like
"Yes, Boss?"
"Bring a can of gasoline."
