Chapter 11
Arthur snatched the documents back, his face flushing with sudden rage. He turned away from Martha, signaling the guard holding Julian with a sharp, downward motion of his hand. “Lock him in the east wing study. Make sure the exterior shutters are dead-bolted. We’ll finish the liquidation paperwork at sunrise, with or without their consent.”
The guard nodded, hauling Julian backward toward the dark corridor leading away from the foyer. Julian twisted violently, planting his boots against the marble floor, but the guard’s leverage was too strong, aided by the element of surprise.
“You can’t keep us locked up forever, Arthur!” Julian shouted, his voice echoing off the walls as he was dragged down the dim hallway. “The moment daylight hits, your entire operation crumbles!”
“Daylight is a very long way off, my boy,” Arthur replied dismissively, not even bothering to turn around.
Victoria watched Julian disappear into the darkness of the hallway, her expression remaining cool and unreadable. She turned her attention back to Martha, whose hands were gripping the wheels of her metal chair so tightly her knuckles were stark white.
“You really should have advised him to be more pragmatic,” Victoria remarked smoothly. “Resistance against an established tide only results in destruction.”
Martha looked up at Victoria, her voice chillingly calm. “You mistake cruelty for strength, Victoria. People like you build your houses on sand. The first real storm washes the foundation right out from under you.”
Before Victoria could respond, a sudden, sharp sound echoed from the front entrance—a heavy thud against the massive oak double doors, followed by the muffled shattering of exterior security glass.
Arthur froze, his head snapping toward the foyer entrance. The security guard holding Julian in the hallway suddenly dropped his grip, startled by the intrusion. Seizing the fraction of a second of distraction, Julian drove his elbow backward into the guard’s solar plexus, sending the man stumbling against the wall gasping for breath.
Without looking back, Julian sprinted down the corridor back into the foyer, his eyes fixed on the front doors where the heavy oak panels were beginning to splinter under repeated, coordinated strikes from the outside.
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“What is that?” Arthur demanded, his composure finally cracking as he reached into his coat for a concealed sidearm.
Victoria stepped backward, her designer shoes clicking sharply on the marble. “It’s not the police,” she whispered, her voice tightening with sudden, genuine fear. “It’s the federal auditors. We moved too fast; they tracked the wire transfers from the safety deposit box.”
