Chapter 3 - Counter-Attack
Preston stepped into the vault, his shiny leather shoes echoing sharply against the cold tile floor. The two men behind him were built like brick walls—hired muscles, not professional operatives. They made the classic mistake of sizing up my height and gender while ignoring the lethal tension in my posture.
"Hand over the drive and the box, Harper," Preston said, stretching out his hand with a condescending smile. "You had your chance to take seventy-three dollars and run. Now you're trespassing on private financial records."
"This box belongs to Caleb," I said, my voice dropping an octave into the low, deadly tone I used during tactical engagements. "And everything inside it proves your father is a murderer."
Preston’s smile vanished, replaced by a dark, arrogant sneer. "Caleb was weak. He cared about honor and duty. My father and I care about power. Do you really think anyone is going to believe a broke, dishonorably discharged widow over the Langford family?"
"I wasn't dishonorably discharged, Preston," I replied softly, taking half a step back to anchor my footing. "I retired with full honors. And I don't need anyone to believe me. I have proof."
"Take it from her," Preston snapped to his thugs. "And make sure she doesn't make it to the parking lot."
The first thug lunged forward, reaching for my arm.
He didn't see my kick coming. My boot smashed directly into his knee joint with a sickening snap. He dropped to the floor with a agonized scream. Before the second thug could draw a weapon from his coat, I grabbed his wrist, twisted it upward into a joint lock, and slammed his head directly into the steel safe-deposit wall. He crumpled instantly, unconscious.
It took four seconds.
Preston recoiled, his face draining of all color as he scrambled backward toward the door. "You... you're a freak!" he stammered, tumbling over his own feet.
I stepped over the groaning thug on the floor, grabbed Preston by his silk tie, and slammed him back against the open vault door. The sheer terror in his eyes was pathetic.
"Listen to me very carefully, Preston," I whispered into his ear, my grip tightening until his face turned red. "I survived enemy interrogation in South America while carrying your brother's child. You couldn't handle ten minutes in a cold room. Tell your father that Harper Vance is coming home. And tell him I want my mother's money back."
I shoved him to the floor, tucked the flash drive, ledger, and journal into my inner tactical vest, and walked calmly out of the vault.
When I reached the lobby, the security guard was looking around nervously. I walked straight past him into the brisk morning air.
As soon as I opened the rear door of my rental car, Titan let out a sharp bark. But I didn't get in immediately. I noticed a black SUV parked across the street, its tinted windows rolled down just an inch. Someone had followed Preston.
My satellite phone vibrated in my pocket. I answered it without taking my eyes off the suspicious vehicle.
"Harper," Major Vance's voice crackled through the speaker. "I just ran the license plate you gave me. The estate isn't just owned by Richard Langford. He took out a fifty-million-dollar mortgage against the property three weeks ago. He's broke, Harper. He was using your mother's trust funds to service his debt. If he loses that money, he's facing federal prison for fraud, embezzlement, and treason."
"I know," I said, watching the black SUV slowly pull away from the curb. "And he killed Caleb to cover it up."
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"What's your next move?" Vance asked.
"Call a team," I said, looking down at Lily, who was opening her big blue eyes and looking up at me. "We're going to crash the Langford Charity Gala tonight."
