Chapter 34
The flight back to Chicago was an agonizing, ten-hour descent into pure paranoia. Clara paced the cabin of the private Vance jet, her crimson suit swapped for dark tactical clothing. She had spent hours frantically typing on her encrypted laptop, trying to establish a secure handshake with the Chicago estate's mainframe.
"Nothing," Clara slammed the laptop shut, tears of sheer frustration burning in her eyes. "He instituted a total localized blackout. Graham locked us out of our own home."
Silas sat in the leather captain's chair, meticulously cleaning and reassembling a heavy assault rifle. He hadn't slept. The lethal, quiet fury radiating from him was palpable.
"Marco has a strike team waiting at O'Hare," Silas said, sliding the bolt carrier into place with a sharp metallic clack. "We will be at the estate twenty minutes after we touch down. Graham is a desperate man playing a game he doesn't understand. We will break the perimeter, Clara. We will get Julian back."
"My father doesn't want to raise Julian," Clara whispered, sinking into the seat across from Silas. "He wants to use him as a human shield. He knows it's the only way we won't level the building with him inside."
"Then I will go in alone," Silas stated, meeting her eyes. "I will slip the net. I will find him."
"No," Clara said, her voice hardening, the sorrow evaporating into a cold, ruthless resolve. "Graham Hart is my father. He is my monster to slay. I hid from him for thirty-two years, Silas. I let him push me into that fountain. I let him dictate my worth. Tonight, I am going to show him exactly what a Vance is capable of."
Silas looked at his wife, seeing the absolute, uncompromising fire in her soul. He didn't argue. He handed her a spare magazine for her 9mm pistol. "Then we do it together."
The jet touched down on the private tarmac in Chicago under the cover of a massive, rolling thunderstorm. Lightning illuminated the sky, casting jagged, violent shadows across the runway. Marco's armored SUVs were waiting, engines roaring.
They sped through the rain-slicked city streets, blowing past red lights and civilian traffic. When they reached the towering wrought-iron gates of the Vance estate, they found them locked and dead. The security cameras were drooping, their lenses shattered.
"Ram it," Silas ordered from the passenger seat.
May you like
The lead armored SUV accelerated, smashing through the heavy iron gates with a deafening screech of tearing metal. The convoy poured onto the manicured grounds. The beautiful, sprawling mansion was entirely dark, save for a single, flickering light burning in the primary study on the second floor.
"He's in there," Clara said, staring at the window. "He's waiting for us."
