Chapter 7 - Blood on the Lawn
The glass front doors of the mansion shattered inward as a tactical breaching charge detonated against the main foyer.
Shards of crystal and heavy oak rained across the marble floor. Four men dressed in black tactical gear and wearing balaclavas swarmed into the grand entrance, their submachine guns raised.
They didn't expect Sebastian Vale to be standing at the top of the grand staircase waiting for them.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three precise shots echoed through the cavernous hall. Three masked operatives dropped instantly, their bodies hitting the marble with heavy thuds.
The fourth man raised his rifle, but before he could pull the trigger, a heavy silver-plated candlestick smashed across the side of his helmet.
Marcus Sterling stepped out from the shadows near the library doors, breathing heavily, holding the heavy antique candlestick in his bruised hand.
Sebastian walked down the stairs, stepping over the fallen bodies. His face was a mask of cold, terrifying wrath. He knelt beside the surviving operative, ripping the balaclava off his face.
It wasn't a Volkov soldier. It was one of Arthur Vale’s personal bodyguards.
Sebastian stood up slowly, his dark gray eyes locking onto Marcus.
"My grandfather," Sebastian whispered.
"He tried to arrange an extraction," Marcus admitted, his voice grim. "He thought if he could intimidate Miss Bennett and the children into leaving, you would come back to your senses and marry Clarissa."
Sebastian didn't say a word. He turned and marched straight toward the west wing, his boots echoing with the fury of a man walking to an execution.
He kicked open the door to Arthur Vale’s private study.
The old man sat behind his massive mahogany desk, pouring a glass of scotch with shaking hands, as if he hadn't just sent an assassination squad to his own grandson's doorstep.
"You're losing your edge, Sebastian," Arthur said without looking up. "Leaving the front doors unlocked for amateurs."
Sebastian walked across the room, grabbed the crystal decanter off the desk, and smashed it against the wall inches from his grandfather’s head.
Arthur flinched, finally looking up into Sebastian’s eyes.
"You sent killers into my home," Sebastian said, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register. "You put my children in the crossfire."
"I am protecting the family legacy!" Arthur shouted, slamming his fist on the desk. "You cannot saddle the Vale name with a nameless clerk and three bastards! We need strength! We need the Harts!"
"The legacy is dead," Sebastian said, pulling his pistol and laying it flat on the mahogany desk, right in front of his grandfather's hands. "And you killed it."
He leaned in close, his face inches from the old man's terrified eyes.
"Tomorrow morning, you will sign over ninety percent of your voting shares to me. You will pack a single bag, and you will board a private flight to our estate in Zurich. If you ever set foot in New York again, I won't use a gun. I will let the world tear you to pieces."
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Arthur stared at the gun, then up at his grandson. For the first time in his life, the patriarch of the Vale empire realized that he had created a monster too powerful to control.
"Done," the old man whispered.
