Chapter 9
The Vances' safehouse was a sprawling, ultra-secure penthouse situated on the opposite side of the city. Brooke sat on a velvet sofa, a cup of untouched tea resting on the glass table before her. The twins were asleep in a secured adjoining room, guarded by two of Marcus's best men.
Marcus paced the room, his phone glued to his ear. He hung up and turned to Brooke, a grim smile touching his lips.
"Cole secured the drives," Marcus announced. "Kendra and the boy are safe in a neutral location. She has agreed to testify against Garrett in exchange for immunity and the funds you promised."
Brooke let out a long, shuddering breath, closing her eyes. The sheer exhaustion of the last forty-eight hours was threatening to crush her. "And Garrett?"
"Cole has him," Marcus said, pouring himself a measure of scotch. "He's being transported to a private holding facility until our lawyers arrange the formal handover to the federal prosecutors. It's over, Brooke. He lost."
"It won't be over until he's behind bars," Brooke whispered, pulling her pink floral lace robe tighter around herself. "Garrett is like a cornered snake. He strikes blindly when he's desperate."
Suddenly, the encrypted tablet on the coffee table buzzed loudly, displaying an incoming video call.
Brooke frowned, leaning forward. The caller ID was a string of zeroes—an untraceable connection.
"Don't answer that," Marcus warned, stepping forward.
But Brooke's intuition flared. She pressed the accept button.
The screen flickered to life, displaying a grainy, chaotic image. It wasn't Garrett. It was Cole. But Cole wasn't in a secure vehicle. He was bleeding from a massive cut on his forehead, sitting in the passenger seat of a wrecked SUV. The sound of sirens wailed in the background.
"Mr. Vance," Cole gasped, coughing violently. "We were ambushed."
"Cole! What happened? Where is Hale?" Marcus roared, leaning over the tablet.
"Mercenaries," Cole choked out, looking frantically out the shattered window of his vehicle. "Heavy ordnance. They hit our transport on the bridge. They took out the drivers. Garrett had a tracker on him, sir. He sold his shares to the Romanov syndicate three hours ago. The Russians came for him."
Brooke’s blood ran cold. The Romanovs were a brutal, international crime syndicate. Garrett had realized he was losing the corporate war, so he had sold his soul to the devil to secure a private army.
"Did they get the drives?" Brooke demanded, fear spiking in her chest.
"No," Cole managed a bloody smile, holding up a small black pouch. "I tossed them down a storm drain before they breached the car. They don't have the data. But they have Garrett."
"Get out of there, Cole," Marcus ordered. "Wait for the police. Do not engage."
The screen went black as the connection severed.
Marcus stood up slowly, the glass of scotch trembling slightly in his hand. He looked at his daughter, the realization of the escalating war settling over them like a shroud.
"He sold the company to the Russians," Marcus whispered.
"He didn't sell the company," Brooke corrected, her brown eyes hardening into chips of ice. "He sold the illusion of the company. Without those drives, the Romanovs have nothing but worthless stock."
May you like
"Which means," Marcus said, looking toward the heavy reinforced doors of the penthouse, "Garrett is going to tell them exactly where the real leverage is."
Brooke looked toward the nursery where her twins were sleeping. Garrett was coming for them, and this time, he was bringing an army.
