Chapter 50 - the call from the grave
I vaulted back up the stone steps, Ethan following as quickly as his shattered leg would allow, the brass key clutched tightly in my fist and the tactical rifle back in my grip.
The foyer was brightly lit now. Three local police cruisers and an unmarked black government sedan were parked outside on the circular drive, their flashing blue and red emergency strobes painting the rain-soaked pillars in frantic, strobe-like rhythms.
Clara was standing near the base of the staircase, holding Lily tightly in her arms. Her face was ashen, her lips parted in disbelief as she stared at the front entrance where two men in charcoal suits stood flanked by state troopers.
One of the men held a federal warrant in a clear plastic sleeve. The other man held a heavy, secure satellite communication briefcase, its screen glowing bright green with an active, unmuted voice line.
"Marcus Vance?" the lead agent asked, his voice flat, professional, and completely devoid of warmth. "I am Special Agent Miller, Department of Justice Special Investigations. We are taking custody of the estate, all primary financial servers, and the minor child known as Lily Vance under federal emergency protective mandate."
"The hell you are," Harrison growled, stepping between the agents and the stairs, his hand resting inches from the butt of his sidearm. "Richard Vance has already been taken into county custody. This is private property."
"Richard Vance didn't order this warrant, Sergeant Harrison," Agent Miller said calmly, not even flinching at the massive security chief. "Richard Vance was operating under an asset retrieval contract issued thirty-six hours ago."
"Issued by who?" I demanded, stepping into the center of the foyer, water dripping from my hair onto the marble. "Richard was trying to steal the trust!"
Agent Miller didn't answer with words. Instead, he reached down into the briefcase and flipped a heavy brass toggle switch, opening the speakerphone connection to the line on the satellite console.
A static-heavy hiss crackled through the hall, echoing against the broken skylight and the wet family portraits.
Then, a voice spoke.
It wasn't Richard's frantic, defeated snarl. It wasn't the gravelly, recorded tone of our dead father from the subterranean vault.
It was a woman’s voice—smooth, icy, aristocratic, and completely unmistakable. A voice that had not been heard in this house since she was lowered into the family mausoleum when I was seven years old.
"Hello, Marcus," our mother said through the speaker, her tone terrifyingly sweet and calm. "You always were the sentimental brother. Tell Ethan to put the lighter down and bring my granddaughter to the car. We have a flight to catch, and your father's debts are finally due."
Beside me, Ethan dropped his cane. It hit the marble with a deafening clatter that echoed into the suffocating silence of the room.
May you like
Across the foyer, inside Clara's trembling arms, Lily suddenly pointed her tiny finger at the glowing satellite screen.
"Grandma," the little girl whispered cheerfully into the frozen room. "She's the one who gave me the pink purse."
