Chapter 9
The glass in Everard’s hand did not shake. He set it down on the polished mahogany desk with a soft, precise click that carried the weight of an impending catastrophe.
"Senator Vance," Everard repeated, tasting the name like ash on his tongue.
"He held thirty percent of the municipal bonds for the deep-water harbor redevelopment," Keller explained, swiping through the encrypted bank ledgers on the screen. "When Honora refused to approve the offshore dredging contracts last year, the project stalled. Vance was facing a forty-million-dollar margin call from his Wall Street backers. He couldn't force Honora to sign while she was free, and he couldn't kill her without triggering a federal audit of the trust."
"So he partnered with Cassian," Everard said, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. "He used my own brother to hide her in plain sight until the bonds matured."
"Exactly, sir," Keller said. "And there’s more. The senator has been tracking the reception tonight. His aides were monitoring the emergency frequencies. When our security scrambled the cellular towers, Vance’s private convoy left his estate in Greenwich. Perimeter sensors show three armored Suburbans approaching our outer highway checkpoint right now."
Everard walked to the tall, leaded-glass windows overlooking the long, winding drive.
Through the autumn rain, three pairs of high-intensity xenon headlights cut through the darkness, winding their way up the forested hill toward the Vanderley estate’s wrought-iron gates.
"Does he think Cassian is still in control?" Everard asked.
"He thinks the transfer succeeded, sir," Keller replied. "He thinks Honora is currently en route to Canada and that Cassian is waiting in the conservatory to sign over the municipal bonds."
A slow, terrifying smile touched the corner of Everard’s mouth—the kind of smile that preceded a massacre.
"Open the main gates, Keller," Everard commanded.
Keller looked up, surprised for a fraction of a second, before his professional discipline reasserted itself. "Sir?"
"Open the gates. Let them drive up to the front portico. Instruct the perimeter guards to stay out of sight. I want Senator Vance to walk up the grand staircase thinking he owns this house."
"Understood, Mr. Vanderley."
Everard walked across the room to the display case behind the desk. He unlocked the glass cabinet, retrieved his tailored dark overcoat, and slipped it on over his suit. He checked the action on his Colt 1911, slipped a spare magazine into his vest pocket, and straightened his silk tie.
Before heading downstairs, he turned down the hallway toward the master suite.
He opened the heavy oak door an inch, looking into the warm, amber-lit room. Honora was sleeping deeply, her breathing steady and peaceful under the heavy down comforter. Minnie was still curled against her side, one small hand resting gently over her mother’s chest, guarding her even in her dreams.
May you like
Everard closed the door with silent, surgical care.
He turned toward the grand staircase, his heavy shoes clicking with rhythmic, terrifying finality against the marble as he descended into the foyer to greet his guest.
