Chapter 4 - The Breach
Before Lawson could process the sheer magnitude of Clara’s revelation, the secure intercom on the wall of the guest suite crackled to life with a harsh, static screech.
“Mr. Mercer! Mr. Mercer, come in!”
It was Prescott’s voice, breathless and frantic in a way Lawson had never heard before.
Lawson hit the speaker button. “Report, Prescott.”
“We’ve got movement on the north perimeter! Multiple units, heavy tactical gear. They bypassed the biometric sensors using a localized frequency jammer. It’s Vane’s enforcers—they’re hitting the east wing directly!”
Lawson’s blood turned to ice. The east wing. The exact wing where Jonah and Blythe lay sleeping in the private medical suite.
“Lock down the panic shutters!” Lawson roared, spinning away from the desk. “Activate the secondary armory protocols! Do not let them breach the medical corridor!”
“Sir, they’ve already breached the outer courtyard! They’re using a thermal breaching charge on the ground-floor exit near the—”
The audio cut out with a violent burst of static, followed instantly by the dull, concussive boom of an explosion echoing through the stone foundations of the mansion.
Lawson didn't hesitate. He reached into his shoulder holster, pulling out his custom Sig Sauer P226, checked the magazine with a practiced click, and turned toward the door.
“Stay here,” Lawson ordered Clara, his eyes blazing with lethal intent.
“Don’t be an idiot, Mr. Mercer,” Clara snapped, already pulling a heavy steel-reinforced medical case out from under her canvas backpack and snapping it open. Inside wasn't medical gear—it was a modular, disassembled tactical carbine kit. “If they’re using thermal charges on the east wing, they aren't here to negotiate a takeover. They’re here to wipe out the medical suite so there’s no trace of the poison left in your children’s systems.”
Lawson stared at her as she expertly snapped the barrel and stock into place with terrifying speed and familiarity.
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“Who taught you how to assemble a carbine in ten seconds?” Lawson asked, a dark smile touching the corner of his mouth.
“My husband,” Clara said coldly, racking the bolt back with a sharp metallic clack. “He was an army intelligence specialist before they erased him. Now, are we going to stand here discussing my resume, or are we going to go save your kids?”
