Chapter 7 - The Untouchables Fall Apart
By 8:00 p.m., the entire state was engulfed in a media firestorm.
Every major news network—CNN, Fox News, MSNBC—was leading their primetime broadcasts with the unprecedented collapse of the Oakwood triumvirate.
“BREAKING NEWS: SENATOR ELEANOR STERLING RESIGNS AMID MASSIVE DEFENSE CORRUPTION PROBE.”
“KENSINGTON REAL ESTATE EMPIRE SEIZED BY FEDERAL AUTHORITIES.”
“OAKWOOD POLICE CHIEF CHARGED WITH ACCEPTING HUSH MONEY IN BRUTAL UNIVERSITY ASSAULT.”
Inside the fortified private estate of Walter Holbrook, the mood was one of utter, chaotic desperation.
Wyatt Holbrook and Brantley Sterling sat at a glass conference table, surrounded by twenty heavily armed private military contractors wearing body armor and carrying automatic rifles.
Brantley was hyperventilating, his hands buried in his hair. “My mom resigned! She’s under house arrest! My own mother! How did this happen?! Who is this girl’s father?!”
Wyatt, though visibly shaken, slammed his fist on the table. “Shut up, Brantley! My dad runs Holbrook Defense! We have eighty Tier-1 operators protecting this compound. We have military-grade perimeter sensors, anti-drone jammers, and heavy armor. Nobody enters this gate alive.”
Walter Holbrook walked into the room, his face dark with murderous resolve. He was wearing a tactical sidearm holstered across his chest.
“Wyatt is right,” Walter said coldly. “I just spoke with our contacts in private intelligence. The man behind this is Alexander Vance. He’s a relic of a disbanded black-ops unit from two decades ago. He thinks he can run his old ghost tactics against modern private military contractors. He’s wrong.”
Walter turned to his chief of security, a scarred former mercenary commander named Richter.
“Richter, is the hospital secured?” Walter asked.
Richter nodded grimly. “I dispatched a four-man snatch team to St. Jude Memorial Hospital twenty minutes ago. If Vance wants to see his daughter alive again, he will surrender all digital evidence and hand himself over to our custody.”
Wyatt grinned, a sinister sense of relief washing over his face. “Grab the girl. Let’s see how tough the Commander is when we have his daughter’s life in our hands.”
Suddenly, the encrypted radio on Richter’s tactical vest crackled with static.
A voice, calm, cold, and dripping with venomous authority, came through the frequency:
“Richter. This is Commander Vance.”
Richter froze, his hand snapping to the radio. “Where is my hospital team, Vance?!”
“Your four men are currently zip-tied and hanging upside down from the Oakwood Memorial water tower,” I answered through the comms. “They won’t be making it to Chloe’s room. In fact, Chloe was relocated to a classified military trauma center three hours ago under the direct protection of a Marine Special Operations detachment.”
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Walter Holbrook snatched the radio from Richter’s vest, his veins bulging against his neck. “Vance! You’ve ruined my colleagues, but you won’t touch Holbrook Defense! This estate is an impenetrable fortress! If you step foot on this property, my men will turn you into minced meat!”
“Walter,” I replied with terrifying tranquility. “Look out your front window.”
