Chapter 6 - The Uninvited Guest
That evening, the DeLuca-Holloway estate in Lincoln Park was bathed in the warm, golden glow of interior lights while a heavy blizzard raged outside against the thick glass panes of the conservatory.
Maya sat at a low wooden table, using her right hand to sketch a detailed picture of a silver lighthouse standing against a stormy sea. Beside her, little Ellie was crawling across a plush blue rug, giggling as she chased a soft rubber ball.
Mrs. Gable stood nearby, folding a stack of clean baby blankets, her stern face softened by a gentle, approving expression.
"That's a very fine drawing, Maya," Mrs. Gable said. "Mr. Holloway will be pleased when he sees it."
Before Maya could reply, the security intercom on the wall beside the conservatory door buzzed twice—a sharp, high-pitched tone that indicated someone had breached the outer perimeter gate.
Mrs. Gable froze. Her hand stopped folding the blanket.
"Stay here, Maya," Mrs. Gable commanded quietly, her voice dropping into an instinctive, tactical register. She walked quickly to the wall panel and pressed the audio link. "Leo? Report."
The intercom crackled with static, followed by the sound of heavy breathing and distant shouting.
“Mrs. Gable! We’ve got an uninvited—”*
A deafening BANG echoed through the intercom speakers, followed by the sound of shattering glass and heavy boots hitting marble floorboards in the foyer.
Maya’s breath caught in her throat. She dropped her pastel crayon, her eyes widening with the familiar, paralyzing terror she thought she had left behind on State Street.
"Mrs. Gable..." Maya whispered, grabbing the edge of the table.
"Get into the panic room behind the bookcase, Maya," Mrs. Gable ordered, her hand slipping inside her blazer to reveal the handle of a concealed firearm. "Now! Take Ellie!"
Maya didn't hesitate. She scooped up seven-month-old Ellie into her good arm, ignoring the dull ache in her healing fracture, and ran toward the reinforced bookcase in the corner of the conservatory. She slid the access panel open, bundled Ellie inside, and crawled in behind them just as the heavy mahogany doors of the conservatory were kicked off their hinges with a violent crash.
Through the narrow crack in the wooden panel, Maya watched in horror.
Three men in black tactical gear stepped into the room. They weren't mercenaries like Moretti’s men; these men wore unmarked suits beneath their tactical vests, their faces obscured by dark ceramic masks.
Leading them was a tall, silver-haired man holding a silenced pistol.
It wasn't Geraldine Vale. It was a man Grant had never seen before—Marcus Vance, the senior judicial clerk who had protected Bright Harbor for five years, now backed into a corner by the collapse of his entire criminal empire.
"Where is the girl?" Marcus demanded, pointing his weapon directly at Mrs. Gable.
Mrs. Gable stood her ground, her pistol drawn and aimed squarely at his chest, her hands completely steady.
"You're trespassing on federal property, Marcus," Mrs. Gable said coldly. "Grant Holloway’s security team has already locked down the estate. You aren't leaving this room alive."
Marcus laughed—a dry, humorless sound.
"Holloway thinks he can dismantle a twenty-year operation with a single foreclosure writ," Marcus sneered, taking a step forward. "He thinks he's a king. But he forgot one simple rule of Chicago: You don't steal from the syndicate and live to tell the story."
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He raised his pistol.
"Drop your weapon, Mrs. Gable. Or I'll turn this entire conservatory into a tomb."
