Chapter 35 - The Ambush on the Rhine
We never made it out of Geneva without resistance.
As our motorcade crossed the Mont-Blanc Bridge heading toward the private airfield, a heavy commercial dump truck blew through a red light from the quayside, slamming violently into our lead escort vehicle and crushing it against the stone parapet.
"Code Red! Ambush! Defensive positions!" Marcus Hale’s voice barked over the tactical radio in our armored sedan.
From two black Mercedes vans that screeched to a halt behind us, six armed operatives clad in tactical gray leaped into the rain-slick street. They opened fire on our tires with armor-piercing rounds.
"Get down!" Marcus shouted, drawing his sidearm and firing through the reinforced gun-ports of our doors.
Richard sat calmly beside me, his breathing shallow, his hand resting firmly on top of mine. "Arthur's remaining patrons in Zurich know their accounts are about to be vaporized, Lauren. They are fighting for their very lives."
"They picked the wrong family," I snarled.
Adrenaline surged through my veins—not the fear of a victim, but the lethal composure of someone who had survived Eleanor’s emotional cruelty for three decades. I grabbed the satellite terminal mounted between the front seats.
"Weber!" I shouted into the encrypted comms line connected to the private bank vault. "Execute Protocol Omega immediately! Freeze the Helvetia Consortium's liquidity lines across all Swiss clearing houses!"
"Mademoiselle Vance, that requires your final digital signature!" Weber responded over the crackling audio.
"Authorization code: MAPLEWOOD-1998! Send it to the Swiss Federal Police and the International Criminal Court right now!"
On the bridge outside, the sound of approaching sirens echoed across the water. Swiss tactical police helicopters swept in low over Lake Geneva, their searchlights pinning Montgomery’s mercenary strike team against the bridge railing. Megaphones barked orders in French and German.
The syndicate’s operatives realized within thirty seconds that their financial backing had vanished. The digital freeze had hit their payment processors mid-operation; their offshore debit accounts were flagged as criminal proceeds.
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One by one, the gunmen threw their weapons onto the wet pavement and raised their hands in surrender.
Marcus lowered his weapon, wiping rain and sweat from his forehead, looking back at me with unadulterated awe. "I see you didn't just inherit your father's eyes, Miss Vance. You inherited his stomach for war."
