Chapter 10 - The Ambush at the Boathouse
The tactical intruder stepped into the boathouse with terrifying efficiency, his suppressed weapon raised and pointed directly at Julian’s chest before he could even look up from the monitor. Thomas didn’t hesitate; with a roar of pure desperation, he lunged forward from the shadows, swinging the heavy iron fire poker with all his might and catching the intruder squarely across the tactical helmet. The man staggered back, his weapon discharging wildly into the wooden rafters, sending a shower of splinters raining down over the desk.
“Run!” Thomas screamed, grappling with the armed operative as a second figure rushed through the splintered doorway to assist his partner.
Julian scrambled backward off the chair, his eyes darting to the computer screen where the progress bar finally hit one hundred percent with a soft, triumphant chime. The automated fire suppression system in the basement archives had successfully activated, trapping Victoria Vance and locking down the lower level under a dome of dense, oxygen-depleting gas. But there was no time to celebrate; the second operative shoved Thomas aside with brutal force, sending him crashing into a stack of old wooden oars that splintered under his weight.
The armed operative turned his weapon back toward Julian, his finger tightening on the trigger with cold, mechanical detachment.
“Mr. Sterling sends his regards,” the masked man growled, though his voice sounded oddly distorted through the tactical comms unit.
Before the operative could fire, a sharp, deafening crack echoed from the doorway, and the man’s weapon was knocked violently from his grip by a well-placed bullet that shattered the barrel into jagged pieces of metal. Both operatives froze, turning their attention toward the entrance where Maria stood framed in the moonlight, holding a heavy-gauge hunting shotgun with a steady, unyielding grip, her dark teal dress fluttering slightly in the chilly lake breeze.
“Leave Mr. Sterling alone, or the next shot goes through your chest,” Maria said calmly, her voice devoid of any fear as she racked another shell into the chamber with a terrifying, metallic clack.
The two operatives exchanged a quick, calculating glance before grabbing their wounded companion and dragging him backward out the ruined doorway toward the idling speedboat parked at the end of the pier. Within seconds, the vessel’s engines roared to life with a deep, guttural thrum, tearing away into the darkness of the lake and leaving behind a trail of churning white foam.
Julian let out a shaky breath, sliding down the side of the wooden desk as his legs finally gave out beneath him. Thomas pulled himself up from the broken oars, coughing slightly from the lingering dust in the air as he walked over to check on Julian.
“Where did you learn how to handle a shotgun like that?” Thomas asked Maria in sheer astonishment as she lowered the heavy weapon with practiced ease.
“My father was a firearms instructor for the federal police back in Colombia before we immigrated,” Maria replied evenly, walking over to check Julian for injuries. “And nobody touches little Leo while I’m on this property.”
Julian looked up at Maria, realizing that the quiet, frightened maid from the hallway that morning had saved his life twice over. But as he looked back down at the computer monitor, a fresh wave of dread washed over him: Victoria Vance had managed to download thirty percent of the master files before the gas system kicked in, including the offshore account numbers that funded the conspiracy.
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“She got the primary routing numbers,” Julian said grimly, standing up and brushing the soot from his navy blue suit. “Which means she has access to the board of directors’ emergency trust funds.”
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