Chapter 3 - Footsteps In The East Wing
The back gate sensor chimed softly inside the bunker.
"That’s not just a doctor," Daniel said, leaning over the console.
His finger tapped the glass above the man with the suppressed weapon.
"Identify him," I commanded.
"Already running facial recognition through our private contractor database," Daniel replied.
Three seconds passed.
A red box flashed on the auxiliary screen.
A dossier appeared.
Name: Marcus Kane.
Former private security operative. Dishonorably discharged. Freelance fixer.
Specialties: Hostile corporate liquidations and staged disappearances.
My blood ran cold.
This was not a custody scheme.
This was a coordinated extraction.
"They aren't just trying to steal Sofia’s trust fund," I realized aloud.
"They’re preparing to wipe out everyone who can contest it," Daniel finished.
On monitor four, the kitchen door clicked open.
Claire was standing by the center island, pouring herself a fresh cup of espresso.
She didn't look startled when the back door opened without a knock.
Marcus Kane walked into the kitchen, followed by the older man in the gray overcoat.
"You’re early, Marcus," Claire said, without even turning around.
"The weather in Toronto turned bad," Kane said, his voice flat and gravelly.
"Alex’s fake flight might get grounded before the manifest registers."
"We need this wrapped up before he smells the play."
Claire turned, handing a cup to the older man.
"Dr. Vance. Did you bring the ampoules?"
The doctor opened his leather bag on the marble island.
He pulled out two pre-filled glass syringes and laid them beside the fruit bowl.
"Liquid diazepam mixed with ketamine," Vance said coldly.
"Two milliliters each. They’ll be unconscious within ninety seconds."
"When the paramedics arrive later, it will look like an accidental ingestion of Maria’s planted narcotics."
"Maria goes down for child neglect and drug distribution."
"You play the devastated stepmother who discovered them too late."
My hands began to shake with rage.
They were going to poison my six-year-old and my nine-year-old.
They were going to inject chemical sedatives into their tiny veins.
"Where are they now?" Kane asked, checking the magazine of his weapon under his coat.
"Upstairs in the nursery playroom," Claire answered.
"Maria is locked in the laundry room downstairs. I slipped the deadbolt while she was sorting towels."
Claire picked up one of the glass syringes, rolling it between her fingers.
"Let’s get this over with. I want to be in the lawyer's office by two."
Kane nodded and headed toward the main stairs.
"Daniel," I whispered. "Guns. Now."
Daniel opened the concealed wall safe behind the server racks.
He pulled out two custom Sig Sauer 9mm pistols and slid one across the steel table to me.
I caught it by the textured grip.
The weight was cold, familiar, and deadly.
I racked the slide, chambering a round.
"We take Kane first," Daniel said, strapping a tactical holster under his arm.
"Quietly. No sirens. No police yet."
"If the cops show up now, Claire’s lawyer triggers the offshore asset freeze before we find the trust papers."
"I don't care about the money," I growled, checking the laser sight.
"I care about my daughters."
"I know, Alex. But if Kane gets spooked, he’ll use the kids as human shields."
Daniel was right.
The nursery was on the second floor, down a long carpeted hallway.
If Kane heard a shot, he would be inside their bedroom in five seconds.
I looked back at monitor eight.
The camera inside the playroom showed Emma and Lily huddled together on the window seat.
Lily was crying silently, her face buried in Emma’s sweater.
Emma was staring at the bedroom door.
She had pushed a heavy wooden toy chest against the door handle.
She knew someone was coming.
My little girl was nine years old, and she was preparing to defend her sister.
A tear cut through the grime on my cheek.
"Through the service tunnels," I ordered.
"We come up through the laundry room, free Maria, and take the rear stairs."
We slipped out of the bunker into the cold, damp concrete tunnel beneath the estate.
Our rubber-soled boots made no sound against the stone.
Fifty yards of darkness.
My heart beat a slow, terrifying rhythm against my ribs.
We reached the heavy iron grate beneath the laundry room.
Daniel pulled the release lever.
The hatch clicked open.
We climbed into the warm smell of detergent and fresh linen.
Maria was sitting on the tiled floor against the washing machine, weeping silently.
Her hands were bruised where she had hammered on the locked door.
When she saw Daniel and me emerge from the floor, she gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth.
"Mr. Alex..." she choked out. "You’re in Canada—"
"Quiet, Maria," I whispered, reaching down and pulling her to her feet.
"I never left."
Her eyes widened in absolute shock, and then she gripped my forearms with desperate strength.
"The girls, Alex! She has men in the house! They’re going to hurt Lily!"
"I know," I said, staring into her reddened eyes. "I saw everything on the cameras."
Maria’s breath hitched.
"Then you know about the drawer?"
I paused, my hand frozen on the doorknob.
"What drawer, Maria?"
Maria reached into her brassiere and pulled out a small silver key tied to a leather cord.
May you like
"Sofia gave me this three days before she died," Maria whispered.
"She knew Claire was coming for your family long before you ever met her."
