Chapter 5 - A Traitor in Burgundy
The heavy oak door of the private study burst open with a deafening bang.
Claire Whitmore stepped into the room.
She was no longer wearing her gentle, sorrowful expression. Her burgundy silk dress was splattered with rainwater at the hem, her hair pulled back into a severe, sleek ponytail. In her right hand, she held a compact, silenced automatic pistol.
Behind her stood Daniel Cross, holding a heavy tactical flashlight and a black leather duffel bag.
“Evelyn,” Claire said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I knew we’d find you here. You always run to Mason’s toys when you’re cornered.”
Evelyn did not flinch. She stood behind the mahogany desk, her pistol aimed directly at Claire’s chest.
“Claire,” Evelyn said calmly. “I must compliment your dress. Burgundy was always the color of fake nobility.”
Claire’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Put the gun down, old woman. The house is surrounded. Daniel’s men have neutralized your gate guards. The Vale empire ends tonight.”
Evelyn didn't lower her weapon. Instead, her eyes drifted to Daniel, who stood silently beside the doorway, his silver eagle ring catching the dim red emergency light.
“Fifteen years, Daniel,” Evelyn said, her tone laced with deep, sorrowful disgust. “My husband took you out of the gutter in South Boston. Mason trusted you with his life. He took a bullet for you in Miami.”
Daniel’s jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath his scarred skin. “Mason didn't take a bullet for me, Evelyn. He took a bullet to protect his own shipment. I was just the idiot standing in the way.”
“And how much did the Morettis pay you to sell your soul?” Evelyn asked. “Ten million? Twenty?”
“Enough to retire as a king,” Daniel spat coldly. “Mason was getting soft. He was talking about legitimizing the business! He was talking about shutting down the dock operations! Do you have any idea how much money we lose if we go legitimate? He was ruining everything we built!”
“So you decided to poison his dinner,” Evelyn said.
“It was supposed to be clean!” Claire interjected, taking a step forward, her silenced gun leveled at Evelyn’s head. “The arsenic was supposed to look like a sudden heart failure! He was supposed to die at the table, the doctors would sign the certificate, and as his legal fiancée, I would step in to manage the estate during the transition!”
Claire’s face twisted into an ugly, bitter sneer.
“And then that filthy little kitchen brat ruined everything!” Claire shrieked. “She grabbed his plate! She made a scene in front of sixty high-profile guests! Now the police are involved, Doctor Warren is running private tests, and the whole plan is falling apart!”
“Where is the child, Evelyn?” Daniel demanded, stepping past Claire, his flashlight sweeping across the dark corners of the study. “We know she’s in this room. Hand her over, and we’ll make your death quick.”
Evelyn smiled—a terrifying, triumphant smile that sent a shiver down Daniel’s spine.
“You’re too late, Daniel,” Evelyn said softly.
From behind the bookshelf, a soft CLICK echoed through the room.
The heavy steel panic room door—built to withstand military-grade explosives—sealed shut from the inside, its internal locking bolts engaging with a series of heavy, mechanical thuds.
Claire panicked, firing two shots into the mahogany bookshelf. The suppressed gunshots sounded like heavy pops in the quiet room, but the bullets flattened uselessly against the reinforced steel plate concealed behind the wood.
“Damn it!” Claire screamed. “Daniel, open it!”
“I can’t!” Daniel yelled back, sweat breaking out on his forehead. “The panic room has an independent biometric lock! Only Mason or Evelyn can open it from the outside!”
Evelyn raised her pistol.
“Then it’s a good thing,” Evelyn whispered, “that I’m still standing.”
Before Claire or Daniel could react, Evelyn pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The sharp report of the unsuppressed pistol echoed through the study like a cannon shot. The bullet struck Daniel directly in his shoulder, forcing him backward into the hallway with a sharp cry of pain.
Claire scrambled backward, firing wildly toward the desk as she retreated into the corridor.
Evelyn ducked behind the heavy mahogany desk, wood splinters flying through the air as Claire’s bullets tore through the room.
Outside in the hallway, heavy shouting erupted.
May you like
“COVER THE EXIT!” Victor’s voice roared from the grand staircase. “MASON’S MEN ARE IN THE HOUSE! FIRE!”
A barrage of automatic gunfire erupted in the main corridor as Mason’s loyal security team—warned by Evelyn’s radio broadcast—engaged Daniel’s mercenaries in a desperate, violent battle for control of the estate.
