Chapter 14 - Blood on the Threshold
We had less than seventy-two hours before the freeze order took full effect. While Julian holed up in our temporary war room drafting an emergency injunction to stay the lien, I walked through the residential wings of Harbor House.
Fatima was in the communal kitchen, helping three young mothers prepare breakfast for their toddlers. When she saw my face, she wiped her hands on her apron and walked over, her dark eyes carrying the deep wisdom of someone who had survived worse storms than this.
"They are trying to take it, aren't they?" she asked quietly.
"They're trying," I admitted, looking around at the bright, safe space filled with laughter and the aroma of fresh bread. "Daniel’s mistress claims she owns the land."
Fatima smiled faintly, reaching out to gently squeeze my forearm. "A hyena can claim the mountain, Serena, but it cannot make the mountain bow. We are not leaving. If they come with their eviction papers, we will lock the gates and stand together."
Before I could answer, a sickening crash echoed from the front courtyard.
I rushed toward the lobby. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, I saw two masked men on heavy motorcycles spinning donuts across the newly landscaped memorial garden, tearing up the grass and deliberately crushing the brick pathways. One of them threw a heavy red brick directly through the double glass doors of the entrance.
The glass shattered into thousands of diamond-like shards, spraying across the entryway.
Julian sprinted down the stairs, pulling me away from the perimeter. "Serena, get down!"
The motorcyclists didn't flee immediately. The rider who had thrown the brick revved his engine, pointed a leather-gloved finger directly at me through the broken doorway, and dropped a large plastic spray canister. It hissed as red industrial paint poured over the clean stone steps—a crude, bloody replica of the white gown I had worn the night Daniel destroyed our marriage.
"Five o'clock Friday, Serena!" the rider yelled through a voice scrambler before kicking his motorcycle into high gear and roaring down the harbor avenue.
Maya ran to the desk, her hands trembling as she dialed the precinct.
Julian knelt by the brick on the floor. Wrapped around it was an invitation on heavy vellum stock.
*The Vance Annual Gala. The Grand Ballroom, The Bellevue Hotel. Tonight at eight. Come dress for dinner, Serena. Let's see what you look like when you aren't hiding behind Julian Sterling.*
I walked over the broken glass, ignoring the sharp crunch under my shoes, and picked up the invitation. "They don't want fifteen million dollars, Julian," I said, the fear that had lingered in my bones hardening into pure, unadulterated resolve. "They want my surrender in public. They want to re-enact the night at the gallery."
"You're not going," Julian said, his eyes fierce with concern. "It’s a deliberate provocation. Chloe’s father, Marcus Vance, has half the city judiciary in his pocket."
May you like
"Oh, I am going," I said softly, looking at my reflection in the shattered glass. "And this time, I won't be wearing white."
***
