Chapter 7 - Thunder at the Estate
The darkness inside the mansion was heavy and suffocating.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Silenced gunfire echoed through the grand foyer downstairs, followed by the heavy thuds of bodies hitting the marble floor.
"Rebecca! Sammy!" I shouted into the dark, stepping forward without hesitation, my legs moving with pure adrenaline.
I sprinted toward the library door, throwing it open.
In the hallway, two tactical flashlights swept across the walls. Armed men in black tactical gear and ski masks were moving up the grand staircase.
"Clear the upper floor!" a harsh voice ordered over a radio. "Vance wants the kid dead and the housekeeper silenced! Make it look like a home invasion robbery!"
My blood turned to ice. They were here for Sammy.
I melted into the shadows of the long corridor, using my intimate knowledge of my own home to move silently.
In the guest wing, I heard Rebecca let out a muffled scream.
I reached the doorway of the master guest suite just as a massive gunman kicked the door open. He grabbed Rebecca by her hair, throwing her onto the hardwood floor, while another gunman grabbed six-year-old Sammy from his bed.
"Let him go! Please! Take whatever you want!" Rebecca sobbed, reaching for her son's leg.
The gunman holding Rebecca raised his silenced pistol, aiming it directly at the back of her head. "Quiet, lady. Boss's orders."
"HEY!" I roared from the doorway.
The gunman turned his flashlight toward me, the bright beam hitting my face.
Through the blinding light, he saw a man standing tall, dressed in a black sweater and trousers, his eyes cold as death.
The gunman blinked in utter disbelief. "Caldwell? What the hell... you're supposed to be in a wheelchair—"
Before he could finish his sentence, I lunged forward with explosive speed.
Six months of pent-up rage, built up through grueling daily physical therapy, poured into my right fist. I slammed my fist into his jaw with brutal, bone-shattering force.
CRACK!
The gunman was lifted off his feet, his head snapping back as he crashed through a wooden vanity table, unconscious before he hit the floor. His pistol clattered across the floorboards.
The second gunman, holding Sammy, panicked and tried to raise his submachine gun toward me.
"SAMMY, DROP!" I screamed.
Sammy, trained by instinct, bit the gunman's arm as hard as he could and dropped to the floor.
I swept my leg across the floorboards in a low kick, catching the gunman behind his knee. He lost his balance, stumbling forward. I grabbed his throat with both hands, slamming him violently against the brick wall, driving his head into the masonry until his grip loosened and he collapsed onto the floor, motionless.
I dropped to my knees, pulling Sammy and Rebecca into my arms, holding them tight against my chest as they trembled uncontrollably.
"I've got you," I panted, my heart hammering like a war drum in my chest. "I've got you both. You're safe."
"Ethan!" Victor Stone’s voice yelled from the hallway.
Victor rushed into the room, holding his sidearm, accompanied by three of his elite security operatives. Their flashlights illuminated the room, revealing the two neutralized hitmen on the floor.
"The perimeter is clear, Boss!" Victor reported, breathing heavily. "We took down four shooters on the lawn. They had encrypted radios tuned to a private channel registered to Marcus Vance's security company."
I stood up slowly, picking Sammy up into my arms, holding my nephew securely against my hip. I looked at Victor, my face a mask of absolute, unyielding stone.
"Where is Marcus right now?" I demanded.
Victor checked his satellite tablet. "He’s at the Drake Hotel downtown, attending the pre-summit executive gala with the board of directors. He thinks his hit team is wrapping up here."
I wiped a smear of blood from my cheek, looking over at Rebecca, who was standing up, her eyes fierce despite her tears.
"Victor," I said, my voice dropping into a register so cold it could freeze fire. "Get the cars ready. We're going to the Drake Hotel."
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"Boss, you just fought off two hitmen," Victor urged. "You need to rest—"
"I have rested for six months, Victor," I snapped, setting Sammy gently down beside his mother, looking into his brave little eyes. "It's time to end this."
