Chapter 3
The speaker crackled with a faint burst of static.
"Answer him, Ottilia," Edric commanded, holding the glowing phone two inches from her face. "Tell Tommy whether the girl is in the nursery."
Ottilia’s jaw trembled so hard her teeth clicked together. She looked up at Edric, tears finally breaching her heavy mascara. "Tommy… Tommy, abort. Abort right now."
"Say again, ma'am?" the voice over the speaker crackled, sounding confused. "We’re on a timed frequency. The detonator triggers in ninety seconds if the receiver doesn't see the ignition sequence. Did he get in the car?"
"No, Tommy, he didn't get in the car," Edric spoke directly into the microphone. His voice was conversational, almost gentle. "I’m still inside having cake."
A sharp intake of breath hissed over the phone line.
"Mr. Whitburn—"
"Don't turn the key, Tommy," Edric said. "If you touch that starter, Silas will put a high-caliber round through your windshield before you can reach the door handle."
"Sir, listen to me!" Tommy pleaded, his professional facade collapsing into naked terror. "She paid my mother’s medical liens! Two hundred thousand dollars! She said you were stepping down anyway! She said the board had already voted!"
"Who on the board, Tommy?" Edric asked, his eyes sweeping across the frozen guests. "Name them right now, or I’ll let you test that ninety-second timer yourself."
"Councilman Sterling!" Tommy yelled through the speaker. "Sterling and Mr. Lucian! They set up the escrow account in the Bahamas! Please, Mr. Whitburn, I have two kids!"
Across the ballroom, Councilman Arthur Sterling dropped his champagne flute. The crystal shattered on the hardwood with a sharp, violent ring, splashing pale wine across his polished dress shoes.
"That's a lie!" Sterling shouted, raising his palms as every head in the room snapped in his direction. "Edric, this is absurd! I’ve known your family for thirty years! I was your father’s legal counsel! That driver is an addict looking to save his own skin!"
Edric didn't look at Sterling yet. He looked down at the phone. "Tommy. Kill the engine. Put your hands on the steering wheel, interlock your fingers, and do not move. If your left shoulder dips by one inch, Silas shoots. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir! Yes, Mr. Whitburn! Hands on the wheel! I'm not moving!"
Edric hung up. He tossed the phone onto the gift table, where it landed with a dull plastic clatter beside the mourning veil.
"Silas," Edric said.
"Boss," the bodyguard answered, his hand already buried inside his tailored coat.
"Take Leo and Vance. Surround that sedan. If Tommy twitches, blow the glass. If he stays still, pull him out through the driver's side, zip-tie his wrists, and leave him on the pavement until the bomb squad arrives."
"Understood, Mr. Whitburn," Silas said, nodding to two men near the bar. The three heavy enforcers moved through the terrace doors in absolute, synchronized silence.
Edric turned his attention to Councilman Sterling.
The councilman was backing toward the service corridor, his rosy complexion drained of all blood, his silk bow tie suddenly looking too tight around his thick neck.
"Arthur," Edric called out, his voice cutting through the salon like a whip. "Where are you going? We haven't cut the cake yet."
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"I’m leaving, Edric," Sterling said, his voice shaking as he reached the service door. "This is a domestic bloodbath. I am a sitting city official. I will not be detained by mafia thugs!"
"You aren't being detained, Arthur," Edric said, taking two slow, measured steps across the floor. "You’re being audited."
