Chapter 25 - The Breach at the Bluff
A suppressed rifle round punched through the double-pane glass, embedding itself into the mahogany mantelpiece with a sharp *thwack*, sending plumes of white plaster dust into the air.
"Cellar! Now!" Liam commanded, pulling Dad and Margaret toward the hidden hallway behind the pantry.
I grabbed Julianna by the collar of her coat, hauling her to her feet with an adrenaline strength I didn't know I possessed. "Move, Julianna! If you want to survive the mess you helped create, you run right now!"
She didn't hesitate. The pampered, golden daughter who had once looked down her nose at me scrambled through the kitchen doorway on hands and knees, terrified for her life.
Liam stayed low, drawing his sidearm from beneath his jacket. "There are three of them. Tactical gear, suppressed weapons. These aren't street thugs. Eleanor hired high-end private security."
"How could Eleanor afford this?" Dad gasped as we reached the heavy cedar door leading down to the stone cellar. "We froze her accounts last week!"
"She didn't pay them with cash," Margaret said grimly, leaning heavily against the cellar frame. "She paid them with the deed to the deep-water harbor berths. The berths Father left to Maya."
The heavy oak front door of our home shuddered under a tactical breaching ram.
*CRACK.*
The brass lock gave way. Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed across our foyer hardwood.
"Arthur?" a smooth, chillingly familiar voice called out through the smoke and broken glass.
It wasn't Richard.
It was Eleanor.
My mother stepped into the ruined hallway, wearing an immaculate cashmere camel coat, her silver hair pinned in an elegant chignon, holding a heavy gold-plated umbrella in one gloved hand and a flat black leather portfolio in the other. Behind her stood two men in black tactical jackets, their automatic rifles lowered, scanning the corridors with methodical precision.
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"Arthur, darling, please don't be dramatic," Eleanor said, her voice dripping with aristocratic condescension as if she were hosting a Sunday brunch. "Come out of the pantry. We have papers to sign, and then this dreadful family misunderstanding can finally be put to bed."
***
