Chapter 45 - The Bloodline Treaty
I drove my elbow backward with everything I had, catching the attacker beneath the ribs, and brought my tactical flashlight down across their face. A man groaned and stumbled back into the moonlight streaming through the shattered pantry window.
It wasn't an assassin. It was Julian Sterling—Charles’s younger brother, the quiet outcast of the family who had supposedly vanished from London five years ago.
"Stop! Sarah, stop! It’s me!" Julian gasped, holding his hands up, blood dripping from a gash on his cheek where my flashlight had struck. "I’m not with her!"
"You're a Sterling," I hissed, raising the weapon David had given me. "Give me one reason not to pull this trigger."
"Because I’m the one who leaked the encryption bypass key to Marcus!" Julian whispered urgently, his eyes darting toward the hallway where gunshots still thundered. "Eleanor killed my father, she corrupted Charles, and she’s here to liquidate me along with your family! The *Pale Horse* file isn't just an audit, Sarah—it’s a hit list of every family member who ever challenged her reign!"
The gunshots in the foyer abruptly ceased, replaced by the heavy, ominous crunch of boots advancing down the hallway. David emerged through the smoke, blood running down his left arm, his weapon trained squarely on Julian’s head.
"David, wait," I called out, keeping my gun steady. "He gave Marcus the key."
"He’s still blood," David growled, his eyes feral with adrenaline. "And blood in their family means betrayal."
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"Listen to me!" Julian pleaded, pulling a battered brass key and a leather-bound notebook from inside his jacket. "Eleanor has a backup server on a converted tugboat moored at the Shelby Street Bridge. If she realizes she can't get the flash drive back, she’s going to initiate a remote wipe of every state logistics database in Tennessee, blaming the Vance company’s network for the breach. You’ll be ruined legally before you ever make it to a courtroom!"
I looked at David. Through the smoke and sweat, our eyes met, forged in the fires of months of survival. We had defended ourselves, we had held the line, but defense was no longer enough. To survive Eleanor Sterling, we had to dismantle her throne piece by piece.
