Chapter 3 - The Ghost at the Door
Seventy miles away in downtown Seattle, the rain was sheeting down against the glass facade of the Sterling & Vance Financial Tower.
My brother, Julian Sterling—a ruthless federal prosecutor known across the Pacific Northwest for tearing corporate syndicates apart—was standing at his office window, reviewing a stack of grand jury indictments, when his secure encrypted laptop let out a shrill, double-toned alarm.
PING-PING.
Julian frowned, walking over to the desk. He tapped the screen.
A red flashing beacon pulsed across a topographical map of the Cascade foothills—specifically, an isolated, private hunting property owned by the prominent, ultra-wealthy Miller family.
Mark Miller’s family.
Julian’s eyes locked onto the sub-text beneath the flashing icon: SOS EMERGENCY BEACON ACTIVATED. DEVICE OWNER: CLARA STERLING-MILLER. HEART RATE: 142 BPM (CRITICAL).
Julian’s blood ran ice cold.
He didn't hesitate for a single microsecond. He grabbed his trench coat, pulled his encrypted satellite phone from his pocket, and dialed a direct-priority line.
“Brenner? This is Julian Sterling,” my brother said, his voice dropping into a terrifying, lethal register that made his chief investigator freeze on the other end of the line. “My sister’s emergency beacon just triggered in the mountains near Skykomish. She’s pregnant, and she’s at Mark Miller’s family estate. I want a tactical team mobilized immediately. If a single hair on her head is harmed, I want every member of that family in handcuffs before midnight.”
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“Copy that, Colonel,” Sarah Brenner’s voice snapped back over the secure channel. “Chopper’s spinning up on the roof now. We’ll be on-site in twenty-four minutes.”
Julian slammed his laptop shut, strode out of his office past a row of stunned junior associates, and headed straight for the private rooftop helipad. The hunt was on, and the Miller family was about to discover what happened when you buried a Sterling alive.
