Chapter 1 - The First Call
The heavy oak door of the master suite felt like an iron wall as I stumbled backward, my knees trembling so violently I thought I would collapse onto the custom Italian carpeting.
My breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. The toxic fog of whatever sedative Lucas had slipped into my evening soup was clawing at my consciousness again, trying to pull me down into a dark, helpless sleep. But adrenaline—pure, freezing, unadulterated terror—kept my eyes wide open.
They weren't just murderers. They were systematic, cold-blooded executioners planning to wipe out every last trace of the Vance family name.
My father, Richard Vance, had spent forty years building a global shipping empire from the ground up. He had trusted Lucas entirely, welcoming the ambitious young financial analyst into our corporate inner circle like a son. He had even financed this floating palace of a honeymoon yacht. And now, my own husband and his sociopathic parents were mapping out the exact moment of our deaths.
I backed into the bathroom, locking the brass latch with a quiet click.
My hands shook so badly I dropped my phone twice against the marble tile before I managed to scoop it up. The screen glowed harshly in the dim light. No cellular service in the middle of the Pacific.
Satellite link only.
I tapped the emergency override icon, punching in a twelve-digit encrypted numerical sequence that I hadn't used since my days working deep-cover compliance audits for federal intelligence syndicates before I stepped back into civilian life to join my father’s board.
The line connected after three agonizing pulses of static.
May you like
“Vance,” a sharp, gravelly voice answered instantly.
“Uncle Marcus,” I whispered, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the mirror as tears finally spilled over my lashes. “It’s Claire.”
