Chapter 11
The sleek black Maybach rolled silently through the wrought-iron security gates of the Vance estate, its bulletproof tires crunching softly over the wet gravel driveway. Inside the climate-controlled cabin, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. Mark sat in the passenger seat, holding the stranger's infant securely against his chest, while Amy sat beside him in the back, her left arm encased in a rigid white fiberglass cast from shoulder to wrist.
The sprawling colonial mansion was illuminated by rows of harsh security floodlights, casting long, eerie shadows across the manicured lawn
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