Chapter 7 - The Gate at St. Jude’s
At 2:30 PM the following afternoon, the private street outside St. Jude Academy was lined with luxury SUVs and mothers waiting for their children.
A battered black van pulled up along the curve of the brick wall, idling quietly.
Inside the van, Vance Miller and three heavy-set men checked their zip-ties and dark caps. Across the street, standing in the shadows of a bus stop wearing a pulled-down hat, was Robert Vane, watching the school gates like a vulture.
"There they are," Vance muttered, pointing through the tinted window.
Rebecca, holding Jacob’s hand while Samuel carried his backpack, walked out of the front glass doors of the school, accompanied by their personal teacher.
"Move now," Robert snapped into his walkie-talkie. "Grab the girl and the youngest. Get them in the van before the guards notice!"
The side door of the black van slid open with a sharp screech!
Two men rushed out, sprinting toward the children with zip-ties pulled.
The school courtyard erupted into screams of panic from gathered parents. But before the men could get within ten feet of Rebecca, the white delivery truck parked behind them blew its doors open.
Eight fully armored tactical officers from Apex Security surged out like a tidal wave!
"POLICE! DOWN ON THE GROUND! NOW!"
The two hitmen didn't even have time to draw their weapons. They were violently slammed face-first into the brick pavement, their arms twisted back, handcuffs clicking shut within three seconds flat.
Vance Miller slammed the van into drive, attempting to speed away, but a massive steel push-bar on an oncoming black SUV slammed head-on into the van’s radiator!
CRASH!
Steam billowed into the air. Marcus Vance stepped out of the SUV, pulled Vance Miller through the broken driver's window by his collar, and threw him onto the hood like a ragdoll.
Across the street, Robert gasped, dropping his walkie-talkie into the gutter. He turned to run down the alleyway, his heart hammering in panic.
He took three steps before a tall figure stepped out from the shadows of the alley, blocking his path entirely.
Thomas.
Robert fell backward onto the wet bricks, staring up at his son in sheer horror.
"Thomas... please!" Robert begged, his hands up, tears of pathetic terror spilling down his face. "I was just coming to see my grandchildren! I miss them, Thomas! I’m your father!"
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Thomas didn't hit him. He didn't scream. He simply looked down at the broken, miserable old man cowering in the alley trash.
"You're not a father, Robert," Thomas said softly, pulling out his phone as federal agents rounded the corner with guns drawn. "You're just a ghost who forgot he died a long time ago."
