Chapter 10 - Blood and Blueprint
The infant’s cries pierced the shattered silence of the penthouse study, echoing off the broken glass of the balcony doors. Grant remained on his knees on the hardwood floor, one hand pinning a thrashing Piper to the rug while the other cradled the tiny, swaddled newborn against his chest like a fragile shield.
"Grant, let go of me, you absolute psychopath!" Piper shrieked, clawing savagely at his wrists. "Julian is going to slaughter you both! You think you won, but the board already voted to liquidate every asset you own!"
"Shut up, Piper! Just shut your mouth!" Grant roared back, his face bruised and sweat-soaked, looking nothing like the polished corporate CEO he had been twenty-four hours ago. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with desperate pleading. "Vivienne... please. Look at her. Look at the baby. Julian ordered her elimination because she knew too much about the offshore accounts. I smuggled her out of Saint Aurelia to keep her safe."
I stood frozen over them, my pulse roaring in my ears. The shattered glass crunched beneath my shoes as I took a slow step closer, looking down at the infant. The baby had a tuft of dark hair and tiny, balled-up fists.
"Safe?" I repeated coldly. "You brought a stolen baby into my home while federal marshals are hunting you for bigamy and grand larceny, and you call that safe?"
"I had nowhere else to go!" Grant sobbed, tears spilling over his cheeks. "Julian owns the police, he owns the district attorney, he owns half the federal judges in this city! If we don't use what’s in this ledger right now to strike back, we are all dead by morning!"
Piper let out another sharp, unhinged laugh, struggling against Grant's grip. "He’s right, Vivienne! You think Julian cares about your contingency trust? He wiped your father’s regulatory files twenty years ago! He’ll wipe you too!"
Before I could answer, the red-and-blue emergency lights flashing outside the penthouse windows suddenly multiplied. The heavy thrum of a helicopter blade vibrated through the glass ceiling, casting a massive, rotating shadow over the ransacked study.
"Federal agents! Open the door! Drop your weapons!" a bullhorn echoed from the terrace outside.
The balcony doors blew inward under the force of a tactical breaching charge. Swat officers in full riot gear swarmed into the penthouse, rifles drawn, shouting orders and forcing everyone to the ground.
Marcus Vance pushed his way past the tactical team, stepping into the ruined study with a cold, triumphant smile on his face. He looked at Grant, at Piper, and finally at me, standing tall amidst the chaos.
"Well, well, well," Marcus said smoothly, adjusting his glasses. "It appears the Ashford family reunion is complete. Federal marshals, arrest them all."
The officers moved in, grabbing Grant and wrenching the baby from his arms despite his desperate protests. Another set of cuffs clicked onto Piper’s wrists as she was hauled to her feet.
Marcus walked right up to me, his smile widening into a predatory grin. "I told you, Vivienne. You can't fight the board. Give me the ledger."
I looked down at the leather-bound ledger lying near my feet. Then, slowly, I met Marcus’s eyes and smiled.
"Marcus," I whispered softly, stepping aside. "You really should read page fifty-two before you celebrate."
Marcus frowned, dropping to one knee and flipping open the ledger to the bookmarked page. As his eyes scanned the text, all the color instantly drained from his face, his hands beginning to shake violently.
Before Marcus could look up, the elevator doors at the end of the hall chimed, and a second wave of agents stepped out—not federal police, but federal banking regulators accompanied by armed US Marshals holding an emergency federal arrest warrant.
"Marcus Vance," the lead marshal announced, flashing a golden shield. "You are under arrest for federal securities fraud, money laundering, and treason against the United States banking system."
Marcus dropped the ledger, staring in horror as the cold steel cuffs locked around his wrists.
May you like
I turned my back on him, walking slowly toward the shattered balcony overlooking the New York skyline as the rain began to pour harder. But as the flashing lights below lit up the street, my phone buzzed one last time with a message from an unknown number:
The game isn't over, Vivienne. Check your private vault.
