Chapter 27 - The Cliffside Fortress
The Whitaker estate in Newport, Rhode Island, was an ominous Gothic fortress of gray limestone, perched precariously on a jagged granite cliff overlooking the furious, churning waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Known as *The Highspire*, it had stood empty since Arthur’s alleged death in 1998.
Tonight, however, every window along the western wing blazed with warm, arrogant light.
Outside, a Category 1 coastal gale was battering the coast, waves crashing sixty feet against the jagged rocks below. The rain hammered against the windows like handfuls of gravel.
Inside the sprawling mahogany library, eighty-one-year-old Arthur Whitaker sat by a massive limestone fireplace, wearing a smoking jacket of deep burgundy velvet. His silver hair was neatly coiffed, his fingers wrapped around a crystal snifter of forty-year-old Scotch. Despite the oxygen cannula resting beneath his nostrils, his eyes carried the piercing, tyrannical arrogance of an emperor who believed the laws of God and man were merely negotiable contracts.
A loud thud echoed against the library's heavy oak double doors.
Arthur didn't flinch. He merely took another sip of his whisky. "Come in, gentlemen. I presume my daughter has returned with my grandson?"
The heavy oak doors didn't swing open; they were kicked off their hinges, crashing flat onto the Persian rug.
Through the doorway walked Nathan Whitaker. He wasn't wearing the tailored designer suits his father had once forced upon him. He was dressed in a dark tactical field jacket, wet from the storm, his boots tracking mud across the immaculate floor.
Behind him walked Colonel Elena Vance-Whitaker, fully armed, accompanied by six operators from Task Force Aegis, their rifles trained on Arthur’s three private bodyguards stationed around the room.
"Disarm," I commanded softly.
The bodyguards took one look at the laser targets painting their sternums and immediately dropped their weapons onto the floor, raising their hands.
Arthur slowly lowered his crystal glass. His eyes drifted from the soldiers, past me, and landed directly on his son.
May you like
A slow, mocking smile curled the old man’s thin lips. "Nathan. Look at you. Playing soldier with your wife’s little friends. You always were so easily led by women."
***
