Chapter 26 - The Sniper’s Bullet
The heavy thud of Sloane’s lifeless body slumping against the arms of the wingback chair seemed to suspend time itself. For one terrifying fraction of a second, the world narrowed down to the spreading crimson stain blooming across the pristine white lace collar of her blouse.
Then, pure adrenaline took over.
"Get down!" I shouted, dropping instantly to the floor as a second suppressed round shattered the reinforced glass of the parlor window, embedding itself deeply into the mahogany wainscoting just inches above where my head had been a moment before.
Victoria Vance, for all her iron composure, let out a sharp gasp and dropped heavily behind the massive oak writing desk near the entrance, her breathing ragged and shallow.
"Sniper!" Kaelen’s voice roared through the estate's internal comms channel linked to my earpiece. "North perimeter watchtower! Someone’s firing from the ridge across the cove!"
"Cover me!" I yelled back, scrambling across the hardwood floor toward the heavy velvet drapes. My hand slipped into my tactical harness, my fingers wrapping around the grip of the Walther PPK I had confiscated from Julian just hours earlier.
"Elena, don't—" Victoria started to protest, but I was already moving.
With a violent jerk, I ripped the velvet drapes aside, exposing the shattered floor-to-ceiling windows. The morning sun glared off the sparkling waters of the cove, but my eyes weren't looking at the ocean—they were locked on the jagged ridge of the neighboring uninhabited island, nearly eight hundred yards away. A faint puff of blue-gray smoke drifted lazily from a rocky outcrop near the abandoned lighthouse.
Eight hundred yards. Standard sidearm range was useless. But Kaelen was already moving.
Through the shattered window, I watched as a dark, matte-black tactical drone launched from the estate’s secondary helipad, buzzing furiously through the air like an angry hornet as it banked sharply toward the ridge across the water.
"I’ve got visual on the shooter," Kaelen’s voice crackled sharply in my ear, cold and lethal. "High-end sniper rifle, suppressed Barrett M82. Professional merc, not local."
"Don't kill him, Kaelen," I ordered, rising slowly from a crouch as I stepped over the broken glass, keeping my profile low against the stone wall. "I want to know who hired him before his heart starts beating."
"Understood," Kaelen replied. "Flanking now."
I turned back inside the parlor. The acrid smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic scent of fresh blood. Sloane sat motionless in the chair, her secrets buried permanently with her. But before she died, she had managed to utter three words that changed everything: *The original Vance Trust.*
I stepped over to the side table where Sloane’s hand had dropped, her lifeless fingers still twitching slightly against the mahogany surface. Lying right beside the cracked teacup was the small, waterproof flash drive she had handed me moments before the sniper's bullet silenced her forever.
Kneeling down, I picked up the drive and slipped it securely into my pocket.
Victoria peeked cautiously from behind the oak desk, her face pale beneath her makeup, her aristocratic composure shaken to its very foundation. "She... she was about to tell you about your father, wasn't she?"
"Yes," I said quietly, walking back toward the center of the room and looking down at Sloane’s body. "Which means Julian isn't the head of this snake. There's someone else—someone higher up in the global syndicate who ordered both my father's murder and this entire corporate coup."
"Who could possibly have more power than Julian or the board?" Victoria asked, her voice trembling slightly as she stood up, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt.
"We're about to find out," I replied, pressing the comms button on my collar. "Kaelen, status?"
"Target cornered," Kaelen’s voice came back instantly, punctuated by the sharp sound of a heavy rifle clattering against stone. "Merc is down, secured with non-lethal acoustic charges. And Elena... you're going to want to see what he was carrying in his pocket."
"What is it?"
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"A burner phone," Kaelen said, his voice dropping into a grim register. "And the last outgoing call wasn't to Julian in federal custody. It was dialed directly to a secure satellite relay registered under the personal holding company of your late father’s oldest business partner—Arthur Sterling."
***
