Chapter 4 - The Lockdown
“This is insane,” Julian growled, his voice dropping into a guttural register that sent a shivers down my spine. He lunged toward the bedroom door, grabbing Vanessa by the elbow with enough force to make her stumble. “We’re leaving. You want to take us to court with some doctored digital video and the testimony of an ex-con? Go right ahead, Marcus. My lawyers will shred you to pieces before the preliminary indictment.”
He reached the threshold of the bedroom, pulling Vanessa behind him, but he stopped dead in his tracks before he could take a single step into the hallway.
Standing outside in the corridor, blocking the entire width of the passage, were four men dressed in tactical black windbreakers. At the front of the group stood Mark Davis, the head of my corporate security detail—a former federal marshal who had been on my payroll for the last decade. Mark’s hands were folded calmly in front of his waist, but the heavy, unmistakable bulge of a holstered firearm was visible beneath his jacket.
“I wouldn't step out of that doorway, Mr. Vance,” Mark said, his voice deep, resonant, and entirely devoid of emotion. “The perimeter of the estate was locked down via remote override at four o'clock this morning. The front gates are secured, the garage bays are disabled, and the local law enforcement authorities have already entered the main driveway.”
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Julian stumbled backward into the bedroom, nearly colliding with a heavy floor lamp. He looked at me, his chest heaving as panic finally overrode his natural arrogance. “Marcus... please. You can’t do this to me. I’m your brother! We grew up together! You’re going to let them put me in a federal cage over a misunderstanding?”
“A misunderstanding?” I repeated, the icy calm I had maintained all morning finally beginning to fracture beneath the sheer weight of my rage. I stepped forward until I was standing barely two feet from him. “You watched my son—your own nephew—cry out in pain in the middle of the night because his legs wouldn't work. You stood in the hospital room while doctors told me he might never walk again, and then you went out to dinner at the club and ordered a three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine! You sold his life to cover your own pathetic failures!”
