Chapter 8 - The Siege of Greenwich
Julian reacted instantly. He lifted Laya into Evelyn’s arms, pushing both of them toward the bathroom hidden behind a heavy oak paneling in the master suite.
"In here! Now!" Julian commanded, pulling a concealed keypad out from behind a painting on the wall. He slammed his palm against the scanner, engaging the reinforced steel emergency shutter that slid down over the bathroom door, sealing them inside a bulletproof vault.
"Julian, no!" Evelyn cried out through the closing gap. "Don't leave us!"
"I'm securing the house!" Julian shouted back as the steel panel locked into place with a heavy thud.
Julian turned around, drawing a sleek 9mm pistol from his shoulder holster—a weapon he hadn't carried since his days in corporate executive protection.
The master bedroom door was kicked open with a violent metallic bang.
Clara Sterling stepped into the room, flanked by three men in black tactical gear carrying suppressed submachine guns. Outside, the rain lashed violently against the glass windows as lightning illuminated Clara’s twisted expression.
"Hello, cousin," Clara said smoothly, raising her weapon. "Where is the little trash collector? I came to give her a proper inheritance."
"You're too late, Clara," Julian said, leveling his gun directly at her chest. "The police have already raided your apartment in Boston. Your bank accounts are frozen."
Clara laughed—a high, unstable sound that echoed off the high ceilings. "I don't care about the money anymore, Julian! You destroyed my father! You ruined our family name for a destitute legal clerk and her bastard child!"
"She is my daughter!" Julian roared.
He fired two rapid shots, hitting the tactical guard on Clara’s left. The guard collapsed instantly, but the other two men opened fire, spraying the room with submachine gun rounds.
Julian rolled behind a heavy mahogany desk as wooden splinters and plaster dust exploded through the air. He fired through the base of the desk, taking down the second guard, but a sharp pain sliced through his left shoulder as a round grazed his collarbone.
Clara stepped forward, her gun raised, pointing it over the top of the desk where Julian lay bleeding.
"It ends here, Julian," Clara sneered, her finger tightening on the trigger. "Just like Richard Mercer."
CRASH!
The floor-to-ceiling glass window behind Clara exploded inward.
Marcus and four Sterling security enforcers swung through the opening on tactical ropes, breaching the room with overwhelming force. Before Clara could react, Marcus tackled her to the floor, disarming her with a swift, practiced twist of her wrist and slamming her face against the rug.
"Clear!" Marcus yelled, pinning Clara’s arms behind her back with plastic zip-ties as the remaining enforcers secured the hallway.
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Julian slumped against the desk, holding his bleeding shoulder, letting out a long, ragged breath. He looked at the steel shutter protecting the safe room.
"It's over," Julian whispered softly to himself, closing his eyes as the sound of distant police sirens began to wail through the storm. "It's finally over."
