Chapter 3 - The Price of Blindness
BANG!
The gunshot exploded inside the small cabin, deafeningly loud.
Miles was a trained operative; his instincts saved his life. The moment he saw Claire’s hand move, he threw his body to the right. The bullet shattered the glass lantern on the wall behind him, spraying sparks and hot oil across the wooden floorboards.
Miles slammed into the heavy oak table, grunting as the wood splintered beneath his weight.
Claire didn't wait to see if she had hit him. She turned and sprinted—as fast as a seven-month pregnant woman could run—toward the back door of the kitchen. She kicked the latch open and burst out into the blinding white night.
The freezing wind hit her like a wall, driving snow into her eyes and lungs. She stumbled down the porch steps, her boots sinking deep into the fresh drifts.
Behind her, the cabin door slammed open.
"GET BACK HERE!" Miles roared, his voice laced with unbridled fury.
Claire ran into the dense tree line, her breath coming in ragged, painful gasps. The snow was deep, dragging at her legs, making every step an agonizing effort. Her lower back throbbed with a sharp, terrifying pain that sent shockwaves down her thighs. She pressed one hand against her belly, praying silently to the universe, to God, to anyone listening.
Not now. Please, baby, not now.
Behind her, a gunshot whistled through the pine needles above her head.
CRACK!
Claire dodged behind a massive oak tree, her heart hammering like a trapped bird against her ribs. She raised her gun with both hands, her breath freezing into thick clouds in the night air. She peeked around the trunk.
Miles was stalking through the snow fifty yards away, his silenced pistol raised, his eyes scanning the white darkness.
"You can't win this, Claire!" Miles shouted over the howling wind. "Adrian doesn't love you! He never loved you! You were just a respectable front for his blood money! Give me the ledgers, and I'll let you live!"
Claire squeezed her eyes shut. She knew he was lying. Miles would never leave a witness alive.
Suddenly, from the driveway half a mile away, the roar of multiple high-performance engines cut through the storm.
Headlights—bright, blinding halogen beams—swept through the dense forest, illuminating the snow like silver dust. Three heavy black SUVs burst through the wooden fence of the property, spinning their tires as they came to a violent halt near the cabin.
Miles froze, his head snapping toward the driveway. "What the..."
The doors of the lead SUV flew open before the vehicle had even completely stopped.
Adrian Cole stepped out into the freezing storm.
He wore no coat, only a blood-red velvet dinner jacket from the party, soaked through with snow. His eyes were wild, bloodshot, and terrifying—the eyes of a predator whose territory had been invaded. In his hand, he held a heavy black semi-automatic pistol. Behind him, ten heavily armed men poured out of the trailing vehicles, weapons raised.
"MILES!" Adrian’s voice echoed across the mountainside like an avalanche.
Miles panicked. He realized instantly that his magnetic tracker had been mirrored, or that Adrian had tracked his private vehicle when he left Greenwich. He turned his weapon toward the driveway, taking cover behind a low stone wall.
"Adrian! Wait!" Miles shouted, his voice high with sudden desperation. "She’s here! Claire is here! She has the black ledgers! She’s been working with the feds!"
Adrian walked slowly through the deep snow toward the stone wall, his weapon pointed dead ahead, completely ignoring the freezing cold.
"Where is my wife, Miles?" Adrian asked, his voice deathly quiet, far more terrifying than his shout had been.
"She’s in the woods! She tried to shoot me!" Miles yelled, trying to position himself behind the stone structure. "Adrian, listen to me! She stole forty million dollars from the offshore accounts! She was going to hand you to the Department of Justice!"
Adrian stopped ten feet from Miles.
The snow fell between them, heavy and relentless. Adrian looked down at his closest lieutenant, the man he had trusted with his life, his business, and his family for nine years.
Then, Adrian’s eyes drifted down to the snow near Miles’ boots.
Sitting in the white powder was a small, sleek electronic device—a long-range signal jammer designed to block satellite transmissions. And beside it was a printout of an offshore account transfer directed to Warren Pike’s bank in Philadelphia, dated three days ago.
Adrian’s jaw tightened until the bone looked ready to snap through his skin.
"She didn't steal that money, Miles," Adrian said, his voice dropping into a register of pure ice. "You did."
Miles froze. "Adrian... no..."
"Frank spent the last two hours analyzing the encryption keys used to alter the New Jersey terminal deeds," Adrian continued, stepping closer, his boots crunching loudly in the quiet night. "The secondary authorization key didn't belong to Claire. It belonged to you. You used her master login from the house network while she was organizing my party."
Miles’ eyes darted toward the woods, then back to Adrian’s gun. "Adrian... we can work this out. Warren Pike offered fifty million—"
"You touched my home," Adrian whispered, his eyes burning with a terrifying, unholy fire. "You targeted my wife. And you put my unborn child in danger."
"Adrian, please—"
BANG!
A single shot echoed through the mountain valley.
Miles Carter collapsed into the snow, his eyes staring blankly up at the dark winter sky as his blood pooled across the pristine white ground.
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Adrian didn't even look at the body. He threw the gun into the snow, turned toward the dark tree line, and began running into the woods.
"CLAIRE!" Adrian screamed, his voice breaking, raw with a terror he had never felt in his entire life. "CLAIRE, PLEASE!"
