Chapter 3 - The Siege of the Estate
"Down!" Daniel roared, diving across the desk and knocking Ethan to the floor just as a second bullet chewed through the mahogany wood where his chest had been a fraction of a second earlier.
Glass rained down like hail. The smart-home system flickered once, twice, and then died, plunging the sprawling estate into artificial darkness save for the emergency red floor-lights casting long, demonic shadows across the walls.
"Marcus! Status!" Daniel barked, dragging Ethan by the collar toward the reinforced panic room hidden behind the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.
"Sniper in the tree line across the lake!" Marcus yelled, crouching low as he fired three rapid shots through the shattered window to suppress the shooter. "And a ground team is breaching the perimeter wall. Professional grade. They bypassed the electronic grid in under ten seconds."
Daniel pushed Ethan into the cold, steel-lined alcove of the panic room. "Stay here. Do not move."
"Dad, wait—" Ethan grabbed Daniel’s sleeve. "They aren't here for you. They’re looking for the manifests. Lily told me her father kept a digital backup on a micro-drive hidden inside the lining of his old ledger. She thinks I have it!"
Daniel’s blood ran cold. The girl wasn't just a victim; she was the key to a blackmail campaign that could bring down the entire syndicate, and someone else knew it.
"Marcus, secure the boy," Daniel ordered, drawing his own custom-engraved Sig Sauer from his shoulder holster. "If anyone breaches this room, you drop them. All of them."
"Boss, where are you going?" Marcus asked, his eyes wide.
"To find out who thinks they can hunt in my house."
Daniel stepped back out into the ruined study. The air tasted of cordite and ozone. Moving with the silent, lethal grace that had earned him his crown, he slipped out into the grand hallway. The estate's interior lighting was completely dead, but Daniel knew every floorboard, every shadow, every echo of this house.
Footsteps echoed on the sweeping marble staircase—heavy, synchronized, wearing tactical gear. Two men, silhouettes against the moonlight pouring through the skylight, moved with calculated precision, clearing rooms one by one.
Daniel melted into the shadows behind a towering marble pillar.
The first operative stepped past him, rifle raised. In a single fluid motion, Daniel stepped out, wrapped his left arm around the man's throat in a crushing chokehold, and slammed his pistol butt into the side of the operative's helmet. The man dropped like a stone without a sound.
Daniel caught the falling assault rifle, checked the magazine—fully loaded, NATO rounds—and looked up the stairs at the second intruder.
Before he could fire, a red laser dot danced across his chest.
From the shadows of the upper landing, a cold, modulated voice echoed down through the vaulted ceiling.
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"Put the gun down, Daniel. The king is dead. Time for a new dynasty."
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