Chapter 11 - The Engine Roars
The vintage Packard engine backfired once, a loud, explosive pop that echoed off the stone walls of the carriage house like a gunshot. The cloud of grey exhaust billowed thicker, filling the space with the heavy scent of unburnt fuel and burning oil.
On the concrete floor, Julian wrenched his arm free from the security guard's grip, landing a sharp elbow to the man's ribs that forced the air out of his lungs in a breathless gasp. He scrambled to his feet, wiping a streak of blood from his cheek where a ring had grazed his skin.
Marcus was already scrambling backward toward the open doorway, his face pale and slick with nervous sweat. He cast one desperate glance toward the open vault stairwell where his pistol had vanished into the darkness, then looked up at Julian, who stood towering over him, holding the heavy tire iron like a scepter of judgment.
"You're ruined, Marcus," Julian panted, his chest heaving as he pointed the iron tool toward the open courtyard gates where flashing red and blue lights were finally beginning to paint the stone pillars. "The D.A. didn't just investigate my father’s medical records. They pulled every transaction associated with your offshore shell companies. The police are already at the main house."
Marcus sneered, wiping his manicured hands on his trousers as he struggled to regain a shred of his corporate arrogance. "You think the police will save you, Julian? Look at the girl. Look at the state she's in. Even if you make it to the hospital, that child won't survive the night. You're fighting for an empty throne."
Julian ignored him entirely. He didn't waste another breath on a man whose empire had just collapsed around him. He turned his back on Marcus, sprinting toward the vintage Packard where Clara sat gripping the passenger door handle, her knuckles stark white, her breathing shallow and labored.
"Clara, hold on. We're going," Julian urged, sliding into the driver's seat and throwing the heavy manual transmission into reverse.
The car lurched backward, its tires spinning briefly on the gravel before catching traction as Julian slammed it into first gear. The vintage Packard surged forward, tearing out of the carriage house doors and racing down the circular drive just as two marked police cruisers slid sideways through the open iron gates, their sirens wailing into the night.
Julian hit the brakes hard, stopping right beside the lead cruiser. An officer jumped out of the driver's seat, hand on his holster, before recognizing Julian through the dusty windshield.
"Mr. Sterling! We got the call from the district attorney's office—" the officer started, stopping short when he saw Clara slumped sideways in the passenger seat, clutching her abdomen with a stifled cry of pain.
"Forget the paperwork, get an ambulance here right now!" Julian shouted, his voice cracking with raw panic. "She’s going into labor!"
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The officer immediately reached for his shoulder radio, barking urgent codes into the receiver as Julian threw the car back into gear, bypassing the cruisers and racing down the long private drive toward the main highway.
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