A Rich Socialite Pulled a Gun on the Woman Protecting a Crying 6-Year-Old Boy. Seconds Later, a Tower of Champagne Came Crashing Down—And a Dark Family Secret Was About to Be Exposed! / Chapter 45 / 50

Chapter 45 - BLOOD IN THE HARBOR

"Down!" Daniel roared, throwing himself across Clara and Noah as the wooden walls of the harbor shack exploded inward.

A hail of high-caliber sniper rounds punched through the cedar siding, shredding bookshelves, shattering monitors, and turning Marcus’s radio equipment into smoking heaps of twisted plastic and wire.

Marcus let out a short, wet grunt, clutching his shoulder as blood bloomed across his woolen flannel shirt. "The basement!" the old man wheezed, pointing toward a concealed trapdoor beneath the braided rug. "The old sea gate! There's an auxiliary launch tied beneath the dock!"

"Marcus, come with us!" Clara screamed, grabbing Noah with one hand and hauling Marcus by his good arm.

"No time! They have thermal! I’ll draw their fire from the upper window!" Marcus pulled a vintage twelve-gauge shotgun from behind the bar. "Get that boy out of here, Daniel! If Elizabeth gets him, nobody in this country is ever safe again!"

Daniel grabbed the iron ring of the trapdoor and yanked it open, revealing a dark, rotting wooden staircase leading down into the freezing tide waters sloshing beneath the pier. "Clara, go! Noah first!"

Clara lowered Noah down into the dark. The cold river air hit them like a wall of ice. Below, tied to a green-mossed piling, was a thirty-foot decommissioned steel harbor patrol boat, rocking violently against the black swell.

Above their heads, the roof gave way with a thunderous roar. Two black-clad tactical operators rappelled through the shattered ceiling on high-tension cables, their assault rifles raised.

Marcus fired his shotgun. One operator tumbled backward out the window into the freezing river, but the second operator fired a three-round burst from his sidearm. Marcus fell, his body collapsing against the smoking wood stove.

"NO!" Daniel screamed.

He didn't reload his pistol. He lunged across the burning room, tackling the remaining tactical operator into the table. The two men crashed through the floorboards, tumbling through the rotten wood and plunging straight down into the freezing, pitch-black water of the Hudson River below.

Clara screamed Daniel's name into the churning foam, Noah crying hysterically in her arms.

For five agonizing seconds, only the roar of the incoming tide answered.

Then, the surface broke. Daniel’s head emerged, gasping for air, his hand locked around the collar of the tactical operator’s flotation vest. With a surge of raw fury, Daniel slammed the operative's helmeted head against the concrete pillar of the pier, knocking him unconscious, then grabbed the gunwale of the steel boat and hauled himself aboard.

"Untie the lines!" Daniel coughed, vomiting river water onto the deck. "Untie the lines, Clara! Start the engine!"

Clara dropped Noah onto the bench seat, scrambled to the bow, and sliced the thick hemp mooring line with the tactical combat knife from Daniel’s belt. She ran to the helm, jammed the mechanical starter key into the ignition, and twisted it hard.

The twin diesel engines coughed, sputtered, and roared to life with a deep, vibrating rumble that shook the pier.

As the steel boat surged backward into the dark, churning river, a spotlight swept down from the pier above. Elizabeth Hawthorne stood on the edge of the dock, her immaculate blonde hair whipping in the freezing sleet, holding a long-range tactical radio to her lips.