Chapter 5 - The Silent Shadow
CLACK!
The lights inside the mansion went out all at once.
The grand chandeliers died, plunging the forty-room estate into pitch-black shadow. Outside, the violent rumble of thunder rolled across the Manhattan skyline as rain began to pour against the tall stained-glass windows.
Downstairs, the panicking screams of three hundred high-society party guests began to echo through the corridors.
Everett’s voice boomed over the emergency PA system, calm, authoritative, and completely deceptive: “Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm. We have experienced a localized power failure. My security team is locking the main exit gates for your safety while we clear the perimeter. Please gather in the grand ballroom.”
He was herding three hundred innocent people into a single room—turning them into human shields.
“We can’t let him lock those ballroom doors,” I whispered to Isadora, clicking on a night-vision tactical scope mounted on my pistol. “If he holds those guests hostage, Gabriel’s team won't be able to enter without risking a massacre.”
We slid through the hidden service passage behind the study, following little Wren as she navigated the narrow, dark servant tunnels she knew by heart.
We reached the second-floor gallery overlooking the grand foyer.
Below us, dozens of wealthy guests in evening gowns and tuxedos were being ushered toward the ballroom by eight heavyset security guards in tactical vests—men I had never seen before. These weren't estate staff; they were Everett’s hired mercenaries.
Standing near the grand staircase was Everett Roan, holding an encrypted satellite tablet, calmly directing his men.
“Check the north wing,” Everett commanded his lead mercenary quietly. “Find Damian and the girl. Shoot to kill. Make sure the weapons used match the 9mm unregistered pistols we planted in Marcus’s car.”
“Understood, boss,” the mercenary grunted, pulling a silenced submachine gun from under his jacket.
I leveled my pistol over the polished marble balustrade, lining up the sight directly on the mercenary’s chest.
Before I could squeeze the trigger, a glass window on the far side of the foyer shattered inward with a deafening crash.
A heavy flashbang grenade rolled across the marble floor.
BANG!
A blinding white light and a concussive shockwave exploded through the foyer. Guests shrieked, dropping to the floor, covering their ears.
Through the smoke and rain pouring through the broken window, a towering figure dropped from the ceiling rafters, landing silently on his boots.
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Silver hair. Black tuxedo soaked with rain. A brutal scar cutting across his right eyelid.
Marcus Vance had arrived.
