Chapter 8 - The Bloodline Test
Back at the estate, the heavy oak doors of the private study were locked from the inside.
Marcus sat behind his desk, staring down at a digital tablet displaying medical diagnostics and genetic comparison reports transmitted securely from his private clinic in downtown Chicago.
Maya sat across from him on the mahogany leather chair, swinging her short legs back and forth while she calmly spooned warm oatmeal from a silver bowl provided by the estate's kitchen staff. Titan rested his massive black chin across her small red sneakers, his eyes half-closed in lazy contentment.
The genetic comparison report on the tablet screen flashed a brilliant, undeniable green banner across the top:
BIOMETRIC PATERNITY MATCH: 99.98%.
Maya Carlyle. Daughter of Julian Carlyle and Elena Vance-Carlyle.
The pieces slammed together with terrifying clarity. Elena Vance had been Thomas Vance’s younger sister—a federal analyst who had gone deep-cover into the syndicate alongside Julian, fallen in love with him, and chosen exile over the badge. When the syndicate war erupted eight years ago, Julian hadn't just faked his own death to escape Marcus; he had faked it to protect his wife and child from the very federal task force her own brother commanded.
And now, Elena was gone, Julian was dying in some forgotten hole, and their seven-year-old daughter had been delivered straight to the lions' den because Julian trusted the man he used to call brother more than he trusted anyone else on earth.
The secure intercom on the desk buzzed sharply.
Marcus pressed the talk toggle. “Report.”
Vane’s voice crackled through the speaker, breathless and tense. "Boss, we secured Vance at the port. But before we could load him into the transport, a second team—unmarked tactical units using federal frequencies—hit us from the blind side. They took Vance. We lost two men."
Marcus’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure ice.
“Federal strike team?” Marcus asked.
"Negative," Vane replied. "Too clean for the feds. They moved like a private corporate security detail. And boss... they left a message painted on the back of our transport van in black oil."
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“What does it say?”
"The architect wants his blueprint back. Sunset at the old rail terminal."
