Chapter 6 - The Viper's Last Strike
Defeat did not make Robert Vane humble; it made him insane.
Stripped of his fortune, his title, his estate, and his social standing, Robert moved into a dingy two-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city. Helen spent her days weeping into empty gin glasses, while Robert spent his nights meeting with the low-lifes of the city's underbelly—men he had once hired through Vane Logistics to perform off-the-books security work.
In a dark, smoke-filled diner on 5th Street, Robert sat opposite a man known as Vance "The Hammer" Miller—a disgraced former private investigator with a record of violent extortion.
"He took everything from me, Vance," Robert snarled, slamming a stack of stolen bearer bonds onto the formica table. "My house, my company, my reputation. He thinks he’s a king now."
Vance looked down at the bonds, testing their authenticity with a yellow light key. "He’s Apex, Robert. He’s got fifty private guards around that river estate. You can't touch him."
"I don't want to touch him," Robert spat, his eyes wild with unhinged malice. "I want to touch what he loves. The children."
Vance stopped. His brows furrowed. "Kidnapping a billionaire's kids? That's federal heat, Vane. That's life without parole."
"Not kidnapping," Robert corrected, leaning forward, his breath stinking of cheap whiskey. "A custody reclamation. I still have the original, un-filed temporary guardianship papers from two years ago signed by a corrupt probate judge. If we pull the kids out of their private school during dismissal, we get them across the state line to Indiana. Once I have them, Thomas will sign over every share of Apex Global to get them back."
Vance studied Robert’s desperate, manic eyes, then slowly reached out and dragged the bearer bonds across the table.
"Three hundred grand upfront," Vance said. "And my team pulls the job tomorrow at the school gates."
"Done," Robert grinned, a sick, twisted look of triumph flashing across his cracked lips.
What Robert did not know was that every single booth in that diner was monitored.
Two blocks away, inside a darkened surveillance van, Marcus Vance adjusted his headphones, pressed a button on his console, and spoke directly into his collar mic.
"Mr. Vane, we have audio confirmation," Marcus reported smoothly. "Robert has hired Miller’s crew for a snatch-and-grab at the academy tomorrow afternoon."
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Sitting in his executive office on the top floor of Vane Tower, Thomas looked out over the city skyline, holding a glass of clear water.
"Let them try, Marcus," Thomas said, his voice entirely devoid of fear, replaced only by a cold, absolute tactical calculation. "It’s time to close the trap."
