Chapter 6 - The Sniper’s Shadow
“Julian, down!” Elena screamed, launching herself forward with reckless abandon and tackling him hard against the concrete floor just as a deafening crack split the night air.
A bullet slammed into the stone wall above them, sending a shower of sharp granite fragments raining down over the scattered flash drives and designer bags. Victoria didn't scream; she simply turned on her heel and bolted toward the secondary exit tunnel at the back of the vault, her high heels clicking rhythmically against the stone before fading into the subterranean dark.
Julian rolled over, shielding Elena with his own broad shoulders, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Are you hit?” he demanded, his hands frantically checking her arms and shoulders.
“I’m fine! Look at the door!” Elena pointed toward the shadowy threshold where the second sniper had fired.
Footsteps echoed fading away into the perimeter brush. Marcus was already stirring on the floor, groaning as he clutched his bruised jaw, but the primary threat had vanished into the rainy night. Julian helped Elena to her feet, his eyes dark with a lethal combination of fury and guilt.
“She had a second shooter on retainer,” Julian whispered, pulling out his encrypted satellite phone. “She wasn't just planning corporate sabotage; she was planning a complete hostile takeover of my family line.”
“We need to get back to the main house,” Elena urged, grabbing Julian’s sleeve. “Leo is still there alone. If she had a perimeter team, the estate may already be compromised.”
Julian’s face went pale. Without another word, he hauled Marcus up by his collar, shoving the groggy security consultant into the back of the SUV before slamming the door shut.
“Get in the passenger seat, Elena. We’re driving straight through the security gates.”
They tore out of the carriage house courtyard, the SUV’s tires spitting gravel as they hurtled up the winding driveway toward the grand mansion. The crystal chandeliers of the main hallway glowed through the massive double-height windows, looking serene and peaceful from a distance, but the heavy oak front door stood wide open, blowing lazily in the autumn wind.
Julian killed the headlights a hundred yards out, cutting the engine and coasting into the shadowed archway of the portico. He drew a sleek Walther pistol from the glove compartment, checking the chamber with a practiced click.
“Stay behind me,” Julian instructed, his voice low and steady.
They slipped through the open doorway into the pristine white marble hallway. The silence inside was thick, unnatural, and suffocating. There was no sound of Leo’s crying, no rustle of silk from Victoria’s dress.
Elena rushed toward the private family wing, her heart pounding against her ribs. She threw open the nursery door, expecting the worst. The room was empty, the throw blanket tossed carelessly onto the sofa, and the window smashed open from the inside with glass glittering across the Persian rug.
On the mahogany desk sat an open laptop, playing a continuous looped video feed of an empty room, while a single typed note rested directly on the keyboard. Julian picked it up, his knuckles turning white as he read the chilling message aloud.
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If you want to see your son alive again, sign the asset transfer papers at dawn.
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