Chapter 5 - Siege on Lake Shore Drive
“They’re here!” Paul shouted, sprinting down the hallway with an assault rifle already unlimbered from the armory locker, tossing a tactical vest toward Evelyn. “They bypassed the electronic gate codes! Someone inside the network gave them our biometric overrides!”
Grant let out a high-pitched scream of pure terror. “Inside network? Who?! Who has the overrides?!”
“Only three people in this house have master access,” Evelyn said calmly, sliding her arms through the tactical vest and locking the ceramic plates into place with practiced precision. “Me, you, and...” She stopped, her eyes narrowing as she looked at her brother.
Grant recoiled, his hands flying up in defense. “Evelyn! No! You don't think—?! I didn't know anything about the trafficking! I swear to God!”
“You signed off on the South Side warehouse acquisitions last quarter without reading the structural audits, Grant,” Evelyn snapped, checking the magazine of her service pistol. “You were too busy buying sports cars to notice you were signing off on underground surgical suites.”
“Ma’am! We don’t have time for a family therapy session!” Paul yelled over the rising roar of heavy engines outside. “They’re deploying smoke canisters along the perimeter gardens! They’re coming through the glass conservatory!”
A dull, concussive thud rattled the mansion as a tear-gas canister exploded against the side of the glass-domed conservatory, followed immediately by the shattering of imported greenhouse glass and the frantic, terrified screams of little Theo and Caleb.
“Get the kids into the panic room behind the library! Now!” Evelyn ordered, grabbing Mason by the shoulder and shoving him toward the corridor. “Mason, take Lily and the boys. Do not stop running until the steel door locks automatically behind you.”
“I’m not leaving you!” Mason yelled, tears streaming down his face. “They’ll kill you!”
“If you don't run, they kill all of us!” Evelyn shouted back, pushing him hard down the hallway just as the first wave of armed intruders in black tactical gear burst through the French doors of the grand salon.
Automatic gunfire chewed through the expensive antique Persian rugs, splintering mahogany tables and turning priceless oil paintings into shredded canvas.
Paul dropped to one knee behind a marble pillar, returning fire with controlled, professional bursts from his rifle, dropping the first two intruders before they could sweep the foyer. “Suppressing fire! Get to the corridor, Boss!”
Evelyn didn't run. She ducked behind the reinforced oak frame of the study door, raised her pistol, and fired twice through the blinding white smoke filling the salon. A third assailant staggered backward, his ceramic body armor absorbing the impact before he collapsed into a heap of tactical webbing and black nylon.
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“You’re outmatched, Evelyn!” a voice roared from the smoke.
A tall figure stepped through the haze, flanked by four heavily armed mercenaries. It wasn't an anonymous hitman. It was Arthur Sterling himself, holding a silver-plated revolver, his tailored suit immaculate, his face twisted into an expression of cold, venomous betrayal.
