Chapter 4 - The Threat Emerges
The silence in the workshop office was heavy enough to crush bone.
Eleanor stared at her daughter, her face completely drained of color. "Maya... what are you talking about? Your father died in a mechanical failure. The Swiss investigators—"
"The Swiss investigators were reading report logs generated by Richard's server architecture," Maya said, her voice surprisingly steady for a eight-year-old child. "Dad knew Richard was overriding the safety protocols on the new flight stabilizers. He put the raw telemetry data on this drive two days before he flew to Zurich. I hid it inside the bird's casing three years ago."
Logan picked up the tiny micro-drive with two fingers, examining the custom gold-plated contacts. "Why didn't you show this to your mom before?"
Maya looked down at her hands. "Because Mom was always surrounded by Richard's executives. Every time I tried to talk about Dad's work, Mom told me to stop dwelling on the past and focus on my physical therapy. She was so busy keeping the company together that she didn't see that Richard was running everything behind her back."
Eleanor let out a soft, broken sob. She dropped to her knees beside Maya's wheelchair, grabbing her daughter's hands. "Oh God, Maya... I'm so sorry. I thought I was protecting you by keeping you away from the business. I thought... I thought if I kept you quiet and safe—"
"You didn't protect her," Logan said, his voice hard as iron. "You isolated her. Which made it thirty times easier for Richard to corner both of you."
Before Eleanor could reply, the sharp sound of shattering glass echoed from the main workshop bay.
Logan didn't flinch. In a single fluid motion, he blew out the oil lamp on his desk, grabbed Eleanor by the shoulder, and pushed her down behind the reinforced steel desk alongside Maya's wheelchair.
"Stay down," Logan commanded in a low, terrifying voice. "Neither of you makes a sound."
He reached beneath his workbench, unlocked a concealed biometric quick-release vault, and pulled out a Sig Sauer P226—the weapon he had carried across three continents during his service. He racked the slide once, chambering a round with a mechanical clack, and engaged the safety.
Through the frosted glass window of the office door, Logan watched the outer workshop.
The two security guards who had accompanied Eleanor were no longer standing by the Audi. They were inside the shop, their jackets unbuttoned, drawing tactical handguns with attached suppressors.
Behind them stood a third man—a tall, lean figure in a tailored charcoal suit with silver hair and a silver-tipped walking cane.
Richard Vance.
"Eleanor!" Richard's voice echoed through the metal rafters of the workshop, smooth, refined, and entirely devoid of warmth. "I know you're in here, sister-in-law. You really shouldn't have driven all the way out to the valley to see a local grease-monkey. It makes you look desperate."
Inside the office, Eleanor clutched Maya's arm, her body trembling violently.
Richard walked slowly across the concrete floor, his cane tapping rhythmically against the floorboards. "The board signed off on the emergency conservatorship transfer ten minutes ago, Eleanor. The judge in San Mateo didn't even need to wait for Monday's hearing. You are officially relieved of your duties as trustee."
He paused near Logan's heavy welding table, picking up a steel wrench, examining it with disgust, and tossing it aside.
"Hand over the girl, Eleanor," Richard said pleasantly. "The transport team is waiting at the Monterey airfield. She's flying to Zurich tonight. You can keep your house in Carmel and your charitable foundation, provided you don't make a scene for the press."
In the dark office, Logan leaned close to Eleanor's ear. "Is there a rear exit?"
"No," Eleanor whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Just the side loading bay, but it's locked from the outside."
"Then we go through them," Logan said softly.
He looked at Maya. The little girl reached out and grabbed Logan's thumb with her small, fragile hand. Her dark eyes were wide, but she didn't cry.
"Get my bird back, Mr. Logan," she whispered.
May you like
Logan gave her a tiny, solemn nod. "I'll bring the whole flock back, kiddo."
He stood up, clicked off his weapon's safety, and stepped out of the office into the main workshop, closing the door firmly behind him.
