Chapter 20 - Confrontation in the Conservatory
The heavy glass doors of the grand conservatory blew inward in a shower of diamond-sharp fragments.
A mercenary spun toward the blast, but a burst from Rebecca’s rifle threw him backward through a decorative glass wall into the dark storm. Rebecca stepped through the swirling gale, water dripping from her tactical armor, her weapon fixed precisely between the eyes of Eleanor Whitmore’s lead enforcer.
"Drop it," Rebecca commanded.
The second mercenary held a pistol six inches from Emma’s temple. "Take one step, Colonel, and her brains decorate this antique rug."
Emma looked up, bruised, soaking wet, but her eyes blazed with defiance. "Mom! Don't listen to her! The ledger isn't tied to the trust—it's tied to the offshore accounts! She has no leverage!"
Eleanor stood behind the desk, her composed facade finally cracking, eyes wide with manic desperation. "Lower the rifle, Rebecca! Lower it, or I order him to fire! You are outmanned, outgunned, and on my private soil! No one is coming to save you!"
"I don't need anyone to save me," Rebecca said, her voice chillingly quiet. She didn't drop the gun. Instead, she took a single, slow step forward. "You spent twenty years living in marble penthouses, Eleanor. You forgot what it's like when someone with nothing left to lose comes through your door."
"Kill her!" Eleanor shrieked.
May you like
The enforcer’s trigger finger tensed—
***
