Chapter 4 - The Siege of Lake Forest
The grand marble foyer of the Holloway estate was turned into a battlefield within ninety seconds.
Heavy glass from the high arched windows shattered inward as smoke grenades bounced across the polished floor, filling the room with thick, white fog. High-powered automatic rifle fire shredded the antique wooden paneling and crystal chandeliers.
From behind the grand staircase, Grant’s heavily trained security team returned fire with disciplined, terrifying precision.
Grant walked down the upper balcony, his dark coat moving through the smoke like a shadow. He held his silver .45 low, his dark eyes calmly picking out targets through the haze.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three mercenaries in black tactical gear collapsed near the front doors, their weapons falling onto the ruined rug.
"Grant Holloway!" a booming, raspy voice echoed from the front driveway over the sound of gunfire.
Standing on the front steps, flanked by ten heavily armed mercenaries, was Victor Valenti.
He was a tall, thin man in his late fifties, with slicked-back silver hair, pale skin, and eyes like a reptile. He wore a heavy leather coat and carried an ivory-handled walking stick. On his right hand, a massive gold ring bearing the two-headed raven caught the light of the burning security trucks in the driveway.
"I know you're in there, Holloway!" Victor shouted, laughing darkly. "Give me the girl, give me the babies, and give me Arthur's drive! If you hand them over now, I might let you keep your city!"
Grant stepped to the edge of the balcony, looking down through the smoke at Victor with absolute, unyielding contempt.
"You're standing on my rug, Victor," Grant said, his deep voice carrying easily over the ringing alarms. "And you owe me ten years of back rent for Arthur Vance's blood."
Victor's smile vanished. "You think you can protect them, Grant? Look around you! I own the police! I own the judges! By six o'clock this morning, the news will report that a tragic fire consumed the Holloway estate, leaving no survivors!"
"You talk too much," Grant replied softly.
Grant raised his left hand and pressed a small remote control in his palm.
CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK!
Heavy steel blast shutters slammed down over every window and door on the ground floor, sealing the mansion into an impenetrable, bulletproof bunker. The mercs inside the house gasped as total dark fell over the foyer, lit only by emergency red wall lights.
From the hidden alcoves in the ceiling, automatic defense turrets dropped down, their red laser sights painting the chests of Victor's remaining men inside the foyer.
"Clear my house," Grant ordered calmly over his headset.
A fierce, ninety-second burst of controlled gunfire erupted inside the enclosed foyer. When the smoke cleared and the defense turrets went silent, not a single one of Victor's interior strike team was left standing.
Outside the heavy steel blast doors, Victor Valenti listened to his men's screams fade into total silence. His pale face flushed with rage and shock.
"Boss!" Victor's chief lieutenant yelled, pulling him toward their armored vehicle as security sirens wailed in the distance. "Holloway's perimeter guards are closing in from the woods! We have to fall back to the Gary facility!"
Victor stared at the reinforced steel doors of the mansion, his fingers clutching his ivory walking stick so hard his knuckles turned yellow.
"He has Sarah's drive," Victor hissed, his eyes wild with desperation. "If he gets Sarah to execute that voiceprint, we are all dead! Prepare the Gary facility for full lockdown! If Holloway comes for the woman, kill her the second his trucks enter the yard!"
Inside the mansion's safe room, deep underground, the three-inch titanium door slid open with a heavy hydraulic hiss.
Grant walked in, holding his jacket. He had wiped the soot from his face, though his clothes still smelled of gunpowder.
Emily was sitting on a plush sofa in the corner, holding Owen tightly against her chest while Mrs. Gable fed Miles a bottle. When she saw Grant walk in, she immediately stood up, her small knees shaking slightly.
"Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice small and trembling.
Grant walked over, dropping to his knee before her once more. He reached out and gently smoothed her dark, messy curls.
"Not a scratch, little one," Grant said gently. "Your home is safe."
"Did... did the man with the ring come?" she whispered.
Grant looked into her dark violet eyes, seeing the bravery that had kept two babies alive on warm water for three weeks.
"He came," Grant answered softly. "And now I know where he is holding your mother."
Emily’s eyes widened, tears instantly spilling over her cheeks. "Mommy? Is she alive?"
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Grant stood up, looking at Marcus, who was standing at the door with two fresh tactical teams.
"She is alive," Grant vowed, his voice echoing off the titanium walls with absolute, divine authority. "And by sunrise, she is coming home."
