Chapter 18 - The Lake Forest Sanctuary
The bitter wind roared into the cabin, filling our lungs with ice and gunpowder.
Nicholas leaned out through the shattered rear window, returning fire with deliberate, rhythmic precision. A round struck the second SUV’s radiator, venting a massive cloud of hissing white steam into the freezing night air. Blinded by the vapor, the driver lost control, spinning off the asphalt and crashing hard into an iron light pole.
We didn't stop to watch. Our battered sedan, tires smoking and rear frame bent, limped off the highway and slipped into the winding, snow-covered private roads of Lake Forest.
Ten minutes later, the car turned through the iron gates of an old, gothic stone manor hidden behind dense stands of weeping pines. The gate groaned shut behind us, locking with heavy hydraulic bolts.
"We have twenty minutes," Evelyn said, stepping out into the snow the moment the car halted before the portico. "The private security here is loyal to me, but Eleanor has judges in her pocket. She’ll have a warrant signed before dawn."
We rushed up the stone steps into a dimly lit library lined from floor to ceiling with leather-bound legal tomes. In the center of the room stood an elderly man in a bespoke suit, flanked by two armed guards. On the massive mahogany desk lay a thick, wax-sealed vellum ledger and an array of digital biometric scanners.
May you like
"Arthur Vance," the old man said, nodding respectfully to my father before turning his gaze to me. "And Clara Blackwood. I am Marcus Vance, your grandfather’s personal executor. I have waited twenty-five years for this room to be occupied."
"The hair sample," Nicholas interrupted, turning to me. "Clara, give Marcus the locket."
