Chapter 9 - The Judas Kiss—A Breach in the Inner Sanctum
For three days following the raid on the Grand Plaza, the world outside Blackwood Manor descended into chaos.
The documents Gabriel leaked to the federal authorities ignited a massive financial scandal. Spencer Harrington was arrested at an airfield in New Jersey trying to board a chartered flight to the Cayman Islands. Images of my ex-fiancé in handcuffs, weeping before federal agents, led the evening news across every major network.
Meanwhile, using the decrypted files from Vane’s hard drive, I finally located the true hiding place of my father’s masterpiece: an old, forgotten church storage facility in Queens where my father had performed restoration work twenty years ago.
Gabriel mobilized a tactical convoy to secure the painting.
“We go in fast, retrieve the canvas, and transfer it directly to a secure federal vault,” Gabriel instructed his inner circle in the tactical briefing room. “Once the painting is authenticated, Vane loses all leverage, and the Department of Justice unseals the murder indictment against him for Julian Vance’s death.”
Mateo nodded, checking the magazine of his rifle. “Convoy is staged in the subterranean garage. We move at dawn.”
Standing in the corner was Thomas, Gabriel’s head of perimeter security—a man who had worked for the Costa family for over a decade.
What none of us knew was that Thomas’s gambling debts had also been bought by Viktor Vane.
The next morning, as our three-vehicle convoy entered the industrial district of Queens near the East River, Thomas subtly engaged the convoy’s central transponder jammer, cutting off our communication with the estate’s tactical command.
As we approached the narrow alleyway behind the historic church, a massive cement truck pulled out from an intersection, slamming directly into the lead security vehicle.
Metal crunched with sickening violence.
“Ambush!” Mateo yelled, throwing the SUV into reverse.
Before he could accelerate, two black tactical vans boxed our vehicle in from behind. Masked gunmen emerged, firing heavy armor-piercing rounds directly into our tires and engine block.
Gabriel immediately drew his sidearm, shielding me with his body. “Stay down, Shantel!”
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Thomas, sitting in the front passenger seat, suddenly turned around, pointing a suppressed pistol directly at Gabriel’s chest.
“Don't move, Don Costa,” Thomas said with a trembling, venomous voice. “Vane sends his regards.”
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