Chapter 16 - The Siege of Highland Manor
The convoy consisted of six black federal SUVs, four marked State Police cruisers, and an armored tactical response van.
At 11:15 AM, the iron gates of Highland Manor came into view.
The private security guards stationed at the gatehouse didn't even have time to reach for their phones. The lead police cruiser slammed directly into the center of the wrought-iron gates, the steel ramming bumper shearing the electronic lock with a deafening screech of tearing metal.
The gates flew open, and the convoy roared up the winding, half-mile driveway through the pine forest.
Highland Manor was an immense stone chateau with slate roofs, soaring chimneys, and a massive circular driveway paved with cobblestones.
Before the dust had settled, twenty federal marshals and state troopers in tactical body armor spilled out of the vehicles, weapons raised, fanning out across the limestone terrace.
"Victor Sterling!" Marshal Campbell's voice boomed through an electronic bullhorn. "This is the United States Marshals Service! We have federal warrants for your arrest! Step out of the residence with your hands visible!"
Adam and I stood beside the command SUV fifty yards back, our hearts in our throats.
The massive arched oak front doors swung open.
Victor Sterling stepped out onto the porch.
At fifty-five, he still looked like the master of the universe. He was dressed in a bespoke cashmere sweater, flannel trousers, and leather loafers. His silver hair was neatly combed. He stood with his hands in his pockets, gazing at the sea of law enforcement officers with mild, arrogant amusement.
Behind him, flanked by two private attorneys in dark suits, stood Julian Croft.
"Marshal Campbell, I presume?" Sterling said, his voice calm, resonant, and entirely unbothered. "I assume this theatrical production is regarding the ridiculous allegations made by the Morgan family? My attorneys are already filing an emergency injunction with the Fourth Circuit—"
"Save the speech for the magistrate, Mr. Sterling," Campbell interrupted, advancing up the steps with four marshals. "Julian Croft, you are under arrest for the murder of Kenneth Vance."
At the mention of Vance's name, Croft’s face twitched. His hand instinctively twitched toward his waistband.
"Don't do it, Croft!" Campbell yelled, leveling his sidearm. "Hands where I can see them! On the ground! Now!"
Two state troopers rushed forward, tackled Croft to the stone porch, and twisted his arms behind his back, ratcheting steel handcuffs around his wrists. Croft didn't say a word; his cold eyes glared at Adam and me across the driveway.
Victor Sterling finally lost his composure. The aristocratic mask slipped, revealing the furious, cornered tyrant beneath.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" Sterling snarled, as Campbell pinned him against the limestone pillar and cuffed his hands. "I built this state! I fund your departments! You will be directing traffic in the mountains by next week, Campbell!"
"You're going to federal prison for twenty-five years, Victor," Campbell replied calmly, reading him his Miranda rights as they dragged him down the steps toward a cruiser.
Suddenly, a woman's piercing scream echoed from the second-floor balcony.
Claire Sterling stood behind the iron balustrade, her blonde hair wild, clutching Maya against her chest.
Maya was crying, terrified by the sea of armed men, sirens, and shouting.
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"Stay away from us!" Claire screamed down at the lawn, her voice cracking with pure madness. "You can't have her! She’s mine! Victor, tell them! Tell them she’s my baby!"
***
