Chapter 3 - The Foyer of Glass and Blood
I pulled the truck onto the circular driveway of Julian Vance’s sprawling Georgian mansion, coming to a screeching halt directly on the manicured lawn right in front of the marble portico. I didn't bother turning off the ignition; I grabbed my heavy black canvas bag from the passenger seat, kicked the door shut, and bounded up the front stone steps three at a time. The custom mahogany double doors were closed, locked from the inside with a heavy biometric deadbolt designed to keep out the rest of the world.
I didn't waste time knocking or ringing the bell. I reached into my bag, pulled out the heavy titanium breaching pry-bar, and wedged the chiseled edge deep into the seam between the door and the reinforced steel frame. Setting my boots firmly against the marble stone, I put thirty years of conditioned muscle and leverage into a single, explosive heave. The deadbolt groaned under the immense kinetic pressure before the wood splintered with a deafening crack, sending the heavy mahogany door flying inward and crashing against the tiled entryway.
I stepped through the threshold into the grand foyer, the air smelling faintly of expensive cologne, roasted turkey, and the unmistakable metallic copper scent of fresh blood. The interior was a display of opulent wealth—soaring ceilings, a crystal chandelier, and sweeping double staircases flanking a massive formal living room. And right there, at the base of the left staircase, lay Sarah.
She was curled into a defensive ball on the Persian rug, her soft pink Thanksgiving dress torn at the shoulder, her lower lip swollen and bleeding profusely onto the pale wool fibers. Standing three feet away from her was Julian Vance, wearing a tailored Italian suit, his hair perfectly styled, holding a crystal glass of bourbon in his right hand as if he were hosting a casual afternoon cocktail party.
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When Julian heard the door explode inward, he spun around, his polished face contorting with immediate outrage. "What the hell is this?" he shouted, setting his bourbon glass onto a marble console table with a sharp click. "You broke into my house, Sterling? Do you have any idea how illegal this is? I will have you arrested and thrown in a federal cell before sundown!"
I didn't look at Julian. I ignored his voice entirely, my eyes locked onto my daughter’s trembling frame as she looked up at me through tear-soaked eyelashes, her chest heaving with silent sobs of sheer relief.
