Chapter 31 - The Envoy Appears
I returned to Boston with a singular, fierce objective: we needed to prepare for war. I drove straight from the helipad to my father’s corporate headquarters in the financial district.
When I stepped out of the private elevator onto the executive floor, something felt immediately, terribly wrong.
The usually bustling reception area was completely empty. The executive assistants were missing from their desks. Two of my father’s elite private security guards were lying unconscious on the floor, their weapons meticulously disassembled and scattered across the carpet.
I drew the compact 9mm pistol I had started carrying since the threat emerged, moving silently down the hallway toward my father’s massive corner office. The heavy oak door was slightly ajar.
I kicked the door open and leveled my weapon, ready to fire.
"Drop the gun, Clara," my father’s voice rang out. He was sitting behind his mahogany desk, looking remarkably calm, though the tense set of his jaw betrayed his fury.
Sitting comfortably in the leather guest chair opposite my father was a man I instantly recognized from Marcus's terrified description. Julian Cross.
He was impeccably dressed in a bespoke charcoal suit that radiated quiet wealth. He appeared to be in his late forties, with sharp, aristocratic features and piercing, icy blue eyes that held absolutely no trace of human empathy. He did not look surprised by my sudden, armed entrance; in fact, he looked mildly amused.
"Ah, the famous Clara Vance," Julian purred, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone. He didn't even flinch at the sight of my drawn weapon. "Please, put that away. If I wanted to harm your father, he would already be dead. I simply bypassed his security team to demonstrate how easily your fortresses can be breached."
I didn't lower the gun. "You have exactly ten seconds to state your business before I put a bullet through your kneecap."
Julian smiled, a chilling, razor-thin expression. "I admire your newfound ferocity. But let us be civilized. I am here for a simple transaction. You currently possess fifty million dollars that belongs to my employers. I want it transferred to my specified routing numbers by midnight tomorrow."
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"And if we refuse?" my father asked, resting his hands flat on his desk.
"Then I will not target you," Julian replied, standing up and smoothing his tie. He looked directly at me. "I will target The Phoenix House. I know exactly how many vulnerable women reside there. It would be a profound tragedy if a massive electrical fire were to consume that beautiful sanctuary in the dead of night."
