Chapter 10 – THE RED INK AND THE GREENHOUSE

“Red ink,” Roman whispered, his eyes flashing to the bank statement we had just found inside the piano key.

Victoria Hale.

Victoria was supposed to be locked in a high-security holding facility awaiting trial. But the seventy-five million dollars in the hidden account proved she had a massive, secret war chest. Enough to buy guards, hire mercenaries, and break Uncle Marcus out of custody.

“Call the warden at Victoria’s facility,” Roman ordered Silas, his voice sharp like a razor.

Silas pulled out his phone, dialed, and waited. His face drained of color.

“Boss,” Silas said. “The warden says Victoria’s cell is empty. She transferred out three hours ago on a forged federal mandate.”

“She’s out,” I gasped.

Roman grabbed his jacket, the peaceful CEO instantly reverting to the lethal syndicate boss.

“She didn’t break Marcus out because she likes him,” Roman said, checking his weapon. “She broke him out because Marcus knows the estate’s security grid. They’re coming here.”

“For Rose?” I asked, panic rising in my chest.

“For all of us,” Roman corrected. “Silas, lock the house down. Put Rose and Sam in the vault. Do not let anyone in or out.”

But before Silas could move, the lights in the grand library suddenly flickered and died.

The entire mansion was plunged into pitch-black darkness.

The backup generators didn’t kick on. Marcus had cut the main lines.

“They’re already here,” Roman hissed.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me behind the heavy oak desk. “Stay down, Claire.”

The sound of shattering glass echoed from the east wing. The mercenaries had breached the perimeter.

“I need to get to Rose,” Roman whispered to Silas. “Take the west corridor. I’ll take the east. Claire, stay hidden until I come back for you.”

Roman and Silas melted into the darkness, leaving me alone in the library.

I crouched behind the desk, my heart hammering against my ribs. I clutched the birth certificate in my pocket. If I was going to die tonight, I was going to die knowing I belonged to this family.

Footsteps crunched on the broken glass in the hallway outside the library doors.

Heavy, slow footsteps.

I held my breath.

The library doors creaked open. The beam of a tactical flashlight swept across the room, illuminating the piano, the fireplace, and finally, the desk where I was hiding.

“I know you’re in here, Claire,” Victoria’s voice purred from the darkness.

She stepped into the room, holding a suppressed pistol. She was no longer wearing her red satin gown. She wore black tactical gear, her hair tied back severely. She looked like a predator.

“Roman left you behind, just like he leaves everyone behind,” Victoria mocked, walking closer to the desk. “Hand over the Swiss bank ledger you found in the piano, and I’ll make your death quick.”

She knew about the ledger. She must have had Dorothy tortured before she died to find out where Elena hid the account numbers.

I didn’t have a gun. But I knew this room.

I reached up blindly and grabbed the heavy, brass fireplace poker resting on the stand beside the desk.

As Victoria rounded the corner, shining the flashlight directly into my eyes, I swung the heavy iron poker with every ounce of strength I had.

The brass cracked against Victoria’s wrist. She screamed, dropping the flashlight and the gun.

I scrambled out from behind the desk, grabbing the pistol from the floor. I didn’t know how to shoot, but I aimed it squarely at her chest.

“Don’t move,” I panted, my hands shaking violently.

Victoria clutched her broken wrist, laughing a dark, blood-curdling laugh.

“You won’t shoot me, maid,” Victoria sneered. “You don’t have the stomach for it.”

“Try me,” I warned.

“I don’t have to,” Victoria smiled.

She raised her good hand and pressed a button on a small remote control.

Through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the library, I saw a bright, orange flash of light illuminate the darkness outside.

The estate’s glass greenhouse—the one where Dorothy had been taken—exploded into a massive ball of fire.

The shockwave rattled the windows.

“I told Marcus to wire the greenhouse with C4,” Victoria whispered. “And I told my men to lock your brother inside it.”

“Sam!” I screamed, dropping the gun and running toward the window.

Victoria lunged, kicking the gun away into the darkness. She sprinted out of the library, disappearing into the chaotic mansion.

I didn’t care about her. I ran out the French doors, sprinting across the lawn toward the blazing inferno of the greenhouse.

The heat was suffocating. The glass frame was collapsing in on itself.

“Sam!” I shrieked, tears streaming down my face.

But as I reached the burning doors, a figure stumbled out of the smoke, coughing violently.

It was Sam. And leaning heavily on his shoulder, bleeding from a gunshot wound to the leg, was Uncle Marcus.

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