Chapter 40 - The Turn of the Blade
I didn't hesitate. I scooped up the fallen weapon, thumbed off the safety just as Mark had taught me during our home defense prep, and raised it directly at Vance’s chest.
Vance froze against the stone wall, clutching his bruised shoulder where his fallen guard had crashed into him. The first guard was writhing on the ground, clutching his broken knee, while the second lay unconscious in a pool of dark strawberry preserve and blood.
"Back away from the cylinder, Vance," I commanded, my voice cold, steady, and stripped of all fear.
Vance raised his hands slowly, his aristocratic facade completely shattered. Sweat glistened on his forehead despite the basement chill. "Clara... let’s not be irrational. You don't know what you're doing. That weapon is fully automatic."
"I know exactly what it is," I said. "And I know that you invaded my home, beat my husband, and threatened to execute us in our own cellar. Step back. Against the coal chute. Now."
He moved slowly, keeping his hands elevated, his eyes wide as he realized the dynamic had completely reversed. Mark struggled to his feet, leaning heavily against the workbench, breathing hard through cracked ribs, but his jaw was set like granite.
"Mark, get the zip-ties from the tool chest," I ordered without lowering the barrel.
Within three minutes, Mark had Vance and his conscious operative bound tightly to the heavy iron support pillars of the cellar. The second guard was dragged beside them, groaning as he slowly regained consciousness.
Julianne stood beside me, wiping blood from her knuckles with a linen handkerchief. She looked at me, a mixture of awe and profound wariness in her eyes. "You really are Donald's granddaughter. He would have been proud of that maneuver."
"Don't flatter yourself, Julianne," I snapped, turning the barrel slightly toward her. "You aren't off the hook either. You brought this monster to our doorstep."
Julianne didn't flinch. She raised her hands in surrender, shaking her head. "I didn't bring him, Clara. Vance has been hunting Donald since the day he disappeared from the diplomatic corps. When your father started making noise online, filing public court documents to seize Willow Creek, Vance's algorithms flagged the property. Your father’s greed was the beacon that guided Vance here."
A deep, bitter fury washed over me. My father. Even from miles away, drowning in his own bankrupt pride, his relentless vendetta against me for defying him at my wedding reception had nearly gotten Mark and me killed.
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"Clara," Vance spoke from his bound position against the pillar, his voice dropping into a desperate, hurried whisper. "You have no idea what is in those files. If you let Julianne walk out of here with them, she will sell them to the highest bidder in London. Hand the files over to me. There is an offshore account with fifteen million dollars in the Cayman Islands. The codes are inside my coat pocket. It's yours. All of it. Just let me take the manifest."
I looked down into the open bronze cylinder. The leather binders rested in the gloom, ancient and heavy with the lives of people who had spent decades hiding from the world.
