Chapter 10 - Breach at Midnight
"Turn off the lights! Get away from the windows!" Beatrice hissed, moving with astonishing speed to yank the heavy velvet drapes across the shattered opening, blocking the view from the driveway below.
Elena’s mind raced, adrenaline flooding her veins and sharpening her focus into a cold, tactical clarity. The grief and shock that had paralyzed her moments ago evaporated, replaced by a fierce, protective rage. This was her home, her history, and she was done being lied to in the dark.
"How many of them are out there?" Elena asked, keeping her voice low as she crouched beside the overturned filing cabinet, her fingers brushing against a heavy iron paperweight.
"At least three, based on the vehicle weight and tire spacing," Beatrice whispered back, pressing her back against the wall next to the door. She pulled a small, vintage pearl-handled revolver from the inner pocket of her discarded trench coat—a weapon she had apparently carried across continents without hesitation. "Your father kept old enemies, Elena. And Marcus just handed them the keys to the kingdom."
Downstairs, the heavy oak front door groaned under the impact of a massive weight. Thud. Thud. Someone was using a battering ram or a heavy timber to splinter the reinforced deadbolt.
Arthur stood by the desk, his hands hovering over the telephone line, which had been cleanly sliced by a pair of wire cutters earlier that evening. "The cell repeater is jammed," he said, holding up his dead mobile phone with a blank screen. "We’re completely cut off."
"Good," Elena said, standing up and gripping the iron paperweight like a weapon. "Because I'm tired of running from whatever my father buried in this house."
She strode out into the dark hallway, ignoring Beatrice’s urgent hiss to stay back. The sound of splintering wood echoed up from the foyer below as the front door finally gave way with a deafening crash, followed by heavy, muddy boots stepping onto the hardwood floor.
Elena crept to the edge of the grand staircase, peering down into the murky shadows of the foyer. Through the gloom, she could see three figures moving purposefully toward the back study, flashlights cutting sharp beams through the dust.
At the front of the group, holding a heavy tactical flashlight, was a man with a distinct scar running down the side of his neck. He stopped dead in his tracks, turning his head slowly upward as if sensing he was being watched.
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He flashed his light directly onto the landing, illuminating Elena standing in the shadows at the top of the stairs.
"Well, look what we have here," the scarred man called out, flashing a cruel, wolfish grin as he drew a suppressed pistol from his belt. "The rightful heir, right on schedule. Tell me, sweetheart... did you find the other key before we got here?"
