Chapter 10 - The Return of the Ghost
The chaos in the foyer was instantaneous and deafening.
Gunfire crackled through the ground floor as the mercenaries returned fire toward the front door, the sharp crack of assault rifles shattering the remaining windows and chewing up the drywall of the living room.
"Federal agents! Do not fire!" Vance's voice roared over the din of battle.
I didn't wait for the crossfire to clear. I sprinted back toward the master suite, unlocked the closet door, and pulled my shaken parents out into the hallway.
"We're getting out through the back fire escape!" I shouted over the sound of shouting voices and breaking glass downstairs.
I led them down the rear hallway toward the master bathroom, kicking open the frosted glass window that led out onto the metal ladder overlooking the backyard. The cool night air hit us like a slap in the face as I hoisted my father up onto the ledge first, guiding my mother right behind him.
As I climbed out onto the metal platform myself, a sharp, blinding beam of white floodlight cut across the backyard from the tree line beyond the fence.
I froze, shielding my eyes with my forearm.
Standing at the base of the fire escape ladder, casually leaning against the trunk of a grand oak tree with his hands tucked into the pockets of an expensive wool overcoat, was a man who wasn't supposed to exist.
He had silver-streaked hair, wire-rimmed glasses that caught the moonlight, and a calm, polite smile that chilled my blood worse than any mercenary's rifle.
Arthur Sterling.
"Good evening, Matthew," Sterling said smoothly, his voice carrying effortlessly over the distant sound of police sirens and gunfire from the front yard. "I must apologize for the theatrics of my associates. Some people simply lack the refined touch required for corporate acquisitions."
My hands curled into tight fists at my sides. "You're dead. The feds found your body in Manhattan three weeks ago."
Sterling let out a low, amused chuckle, stepping slightly closer into the circle of light. "Reports of my professional demise have always been greatly exaggerated, my boy. When you manage as many shell companies as I do, having a temporary substitute take your place in a penthouse suite is simply a matter of proper human resource management."
"Why?" I snarled, taking a step down the metal ladder, placing myself between Sterling and my parents. "What do you want with my family?"
Sterling adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, his smile fading into something cold, calculating, and absolute.
"I don't want your family, Matthew," Sterling replied softly. "I want the hidden partition on the hard drive you salvaged from your first server in Seattle nine years ago—the one containing the encryption keys to the original Vanguard defense contract your father stole when he worked as a systems architect for the Department of Defense before the agency erased him."
My father gasped sharply behind me, his hands gripping the metal railing of the fire escape so hard his knuckles turned white.
"He... he told you," my father whispered, his voice trembling with a terror I had never heard in him before.
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Sterling looked past me, locking his eyes onto my father with a triumphant, predatory gleam.
"Hello, Thomas," Sterling said smoothly. "It’s been twenty-five years. Now, hand over the keys to the kingdom, or watch everything your son built burn to the ground before the sun comes up."
