Chapter 6 - The Storm Breaks Early
At 2:00 a.m. on Friday morning, three weeks before my official due date, the storm returned to the Hill Country.
Thunder shook the heavy glass windows of my master bedroom. Lightning illuminated the dark hills in violent flashes of blue and white.
I woke up not to a sound, but to a sudden, sharp, agonizing contraction that tore through my abdomen like a white-hot knife.
I gasped, gripping the bedsheets, my knuckles turning white as I tried to breathe through the intensity of the pain.
When the contraction eased after sixty terrifying seconds, I reached for the nightstand to grab my phone.
The screen was dark.
No signal. No power.
The storm had knocked out the main power grid across the ridge, and the backup generator—which had been serviced just two days ago—had failed to kick in.
I sat up slowly, feeling a warm trickle of water soak through my nightgown.
My water had broken.
“Chloe!” I called out into the dark hallway, my voice echoing hollowly through the quiet house. “Chloe!”
Chloe, who had been staying in the guest wing under strict legal supervision while assisting Marcus with the audit, came running into my room holding a flashlight, her eyes wide with panic.
“Victoria! What’s wrong? The power went out!”
“The baby is coming,” I gasped, another contraction mounting rapidly, pulling my body into a tight knot of pain. “My water broke. Get the car keys... we need to get to St. David’s Hospital right now.”
Chloe grabbed my hospital bag from the closet, supporting my arm as I slowly navigated the dark upper hallway. We reached the top of the grand staircase—the same limestone steps where Eleanor had poured the sealant six days ago.
As Chloe flashed her flashlight down toward the foyer, the beam of light caught a dark figure standing near the front entrance.
A man in a wet raincoat, holding an electronic lock-override device plugged into our front door security panel.
He raised his head. The beam of light illuminated his sharp, silver hair, his cold blue eyes, and his cruel, thin-lipped smile.
It was my uncle, Richard Mercer.
“Going somewhere, Victoria?” Richard asked, his voice smooth and devoid of any human empathy.
Chloe shrieked, pulling me back behind the archway. “Who are you?! How did you get in here?!”
“I owned thirty percent of this house’s original construction company, little girl,” Richard said, taking slow, deliberate steps up the limestone stairs, his leather shoes clicking against the stone. “I know every wire, every breaker, and every security override in this building.”
I leaned against the wall, fighting through another blinding wave of labor pain, holding my stomach tight.
“You’re too late, Richard,” I gasped, sweating profusely. “Julian confessed. The FBI has the wire logs from your Zurich account. Detective Miller is executing a search warrant on your Westlake estate right now.”
Richard stopped on the middle landing, his smile fading into a dark, murderous sneer.
“Julian is an idiot,” Richard spat. “A weak, pathetic gambler who couldn't even execute a simple staircase slip. But it doesn't matter what Julian said to the police, Victoria. If you don't survive childbirth tonight... if you suffer a severe, unfortunate medical complication here in this dark house before the ambulance can reach you... my emergency petition for receivership takes effect automatically.”
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He pulled a small metal cylinder from his coat pocket—a tactical signal jammer, humming with a low blue light.
“No calls out,” Richard whispered, stepping up to the top landing. “No 911. No Marcus Vance to save you. Just an unfortunate, tragic home birth complication due to the storm.”
