Chapter 7 - The Crossfire of Greed
The heavy metal doors of Hangar Four rattled violently in the crosswind, but inside, the silence was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic whine of the Gulfstream’s cooling turbines. Arthur Vance stood frozen, his hand still buried in his coat pocket where his fingers clutched the cold steel of the revolver, weighing the impossible odds. Six assault rifles were trained directly on his chest and Eleanor's. One twitch of a finger, and decades of Vance legacy would literally be blasted into dust.
"You brought mercenaries onto family soil, Viktor?" Arthur asked, his voice shaking not with fear, but with a profound, suffocating disgust. "These men don't care about the Vance name. The moment they get what they want, they'll turn on you too."
"Let them," Viktor laughed, stepping past the line of armed guards to stand just a few feet away from his father. He reached out and effortlessly plucked the revolver right out of Arthur’s unresisting hand, tossing it casually to the nearest mercenary. "Power doesn't care about legacy, Father. Power is about leverage. And right now, I hold every single card in the deck."
Eleanor didn't flinch. She stood beside Arthur, her hands resting calmly at her sides, her dark eyes locked onto Viktor’s smug face. "You forgot one detail, Viktor."
Viktor arched a single eyebrow, his grin faltering for a fraction of a second. "Oh? And what brilliant deduction have you made this time, Eleanor? Are you going to tell me the police are already surrounding the airstrip?"
"No," Eleanor replied smoothly, her voice eerily calm. "The police aren't here. But the federal marshals executed a freeze order on your offshore liquidity pools forty-five minutes ago, right as your jet entered American airspace. The moment you touched down, your accounts didn't just lock—they reverted entirely to the primary trust."
Viktor’s face drained of color, the smug mask shattering instantly. "You're lying. The Swiss courts require a seventy-two-hour waiting period for emergency freezes!"
"Not when the account holder is flagged as a flight risk connected to international terrorism and WMD distribution," Eleanor countered, stepping forward into the harsh halogen light. "We didn't just flag your financial crimes, Viktor. We linked your cartel associates to an active federal investigation. The money you planned to use to pay off your debts? It’s already gone. The government seized every last cent."
One of the mercenaries standing near the entrance lowered his rifle slightly, stepping toward Viktor with a dark, menacing scowl. "Is that true, Vance? You said the funds were cleared and waiting in the Cayman accounts. If we don't get our payment within the hour, our employers won't just walk away."
Viktor spun around, panic flaring in his eyes as he waved his hands frantically at the mercenary leader. "He's bluffing! It's a psychological trick! Give me twelve hours and I can liquidate the secondary assets—"
"You don't have twelve hours, Viktor," Arthur said, his voice finally reclaiming its old, terrifying authority as he stepped forward, towering over his son. "And neither do they."
Before Viktor could lunge forward or reach for the detonator in his coat, the high-pitched wail of approaching sirens shattered the cold morning air outside the hangar. Red and blue emergency lights began flashing through the corrugated glass windows, casting long, frantic streaks across the concrete floor.
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The lead mercenary cursed loudly, raising his assault rifle toward the entrance just as the heavy steel doors were blown inward with a deafening blast of compressed air.
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