Chapter 2 - The Fall of the Altar
The brass deadbolt slid back with a heavy, wet thUNK.
The iron door swung open, revealing the tall, broad-shouldered silhouette of Thomas Vance framed against the dim yellow light of the stairwell lanterns. He wore a midnight-blue bespoke suit, a white orchid pinned to his lapel, his silver hair combed back with military precision. Behind him, Julian was dragging himself up from the stone steps, dabbing a handkerchief at a bloody lip where Vance had struck him.
"Look at you," Vance said softly, taking a slow, deliberate step over the threshold onto the stone floor of the belfry. His eyes traveled down from my disheveled hair, past my blood-soaked right palm, and rested directly on the swell of my pregnant stomach under the torn lace of my wedding dress. "A picture of maternal sacrifice. It’s almost poetic, Clara. But poetry doesn't clear four million dollars in offshore bank liens."
He reached out a gloved hand, grabbing my bare wrist with an iron grip that cut off the circulation to my fingers instantly.
"Let go of me!" I screamed, swinging the thick copper bell-rope handle with my left hand.
The heavy wooden toggle struck Vance across the side of his cheek, slicing a thin line across his cheekbone. He didn't scream. He merely gritted his teeth, his expression darkening into something monstrous, and yanked my arm forward, pulling me off my feet.
"Julian," Vance barked without turning his head. "Get the restraint straps from the vestry bag. The doctor is waiting in the basement utility room."
"No!" I kicked out wild, my heavy bridal boot striking Julian square in the shin as he lunged forward. He went down with a yelp, but Vance’s grip was unbreakable. He dragged me toward the narrow archway of the stairs, my knees scraping against the rough slate floor.
“PULL THE AUXILIARY LINE!” a voice suddenly roared through the church speakers below.
It wasn't my father. It wasn't my mother.
It was a voice I hadn't heard in five long months—the voice of the man my parents had paid two hundred thousand dollars to frame for corporate treason and drive out of the state.
Gabriel.
Down in the nave, the heavy double doors of the main entrance burst open with a sound like thunder. The freezing autumn wind from the bay swept into the sanctuary, blowing out dozens of altar candles in a single, icy breath.
Standing in the center aisle, soaked in rain, wearing a grease-stained canvas jacket and muddy work boots, was Gabriel Vance—Thomas Vance’s estranged younger son, and the true father of the child growing inside me.
Behind Gabriel stood six uniformed officers from the State Attorney General’s Special Investigation Unit, their tactical vests gleaming with silver badges under the vaulted ceiling lights.
"Thomas Vance!" the lead officer’s voice echoed through a bullhorn, cutting through the chaos of the screaming guests. "Step away from the stairwell! This building is secured under a federal preservation order!"
Above in the belfry, Thomas Vance froze. His hand tightened around my wrist so hard I heard the bones in my joint creak, but his eyes darted toward the louvered window overlooking the nave.
"How?" Vance whispered, his face turning from pale to ash-grey. "The federal warrant was sealed until Monday..."
"Gabriel found the offshore server in Zurich, Thomas," I gasped, using every ounce of my remaining strength to drive my elbow backward into his ribs.
The blow landed solid. Vance gasped, his grip slipping for a fraction of a second.
I twisted out of his reach, throwing my weight against the heavy bronze bell. The three-ton iron mass swung outward on its oak frame, its massive rim striking Vance across the shoulder with a terrifying, dull CRACK.
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Vance stumbled backward, losing his footing on the slick stone threshold of the stairwell, and went tumbling down the narrow, curving steps, his heavy body crashing against Julian with the sound of snapping timber.
I collapsed onto my hands and knees on the cold floor, cradling my stomach, breathing in the scent of rain, rust, and blood, as heavy tactical boots came thundering up the spiral stairs toward the light.
