Chapter 13 - Eleanor’s Desperate Ploy
While Julian was being escorted out of his former skyscraper by armed security guards like a common trespasser, Eleanor Montgomery was back at the Gold Coast mansion, descending into a state of manic, terrifying desperation. She had watched the morning news broadcasts detailing the corporate takeover of their family firm, and she knew with chilling certainty that the criminal indictments for attempted murder were barely hours away from being served.
Unlike Julian, who was paralyzed by his financial ruin, Eleanor was a survivor of high-society trench warfare. She knew that in the ruthless legal battle about to unfold, there was only one piece of leverage left on the board that could force Arthur Vance and his vengeful granddaughter to halt the prosecutors: baby Aria.
If she could physically secure the child, take her to a non-extradition safehouse, and hold her as a biological hostage, she could trade the infant's safe return for immunity agreements and offshore cash.
At two o'clock that afternoon, Eleanor executed her desperate gambit. Utilizing a former Chicago police detective on her payroll—a corrupt fixer named Vance Miller (no relation to Elena's family)—she tracked the movements of the Vance estate's staff. She learned that every afternoon at 2:30 PM, Elena’s specialized neonatal nurse and two private security guards took baby Aria for a routine medical checkup at the private Vance Pediatric Pavilion downtown, traveling in a discrete, unmarked armored SUV to avoid the paparazzi swarming the main estate.
Eleanor dressed in a heavy dark coat, pulled a ski mask into her pocket, and climbed into the passenger seat of Miller’s reinforced utility van. Accompanying them were two hired muscle—ex-convicts desperate enough for Eleanor's fifty-thousand-dollar cash promise to risk attacking a billionaire's transport.
"Are you sure about this, Mrs. Montgomery?" Miller asked, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as they idled in an alleyway two blocks from the clinic. "If Arthur Vance's tactical teams catch us intercepting that vehicle, they won't read us our rights. They’ll bury us in an excavation pit."
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"They won't catch us if we hit them hard and fast at the intersection," Eleanor snarled, her eyes wild with feverish intensity as she loaded a compact silver revolver she had taken from Julian’s desk. "The traffic lights are synced to change in three minutes. When their SUV stops at the red light on Michigan Avenue, you ram the driver's side door to pin the vehicle. The boys smash the rear glass, grab the carrier, and we transfer to the secondary getaway car in the parking garage. Do not fail me, Miller. My entire life is riding on getting that baby!"
As the sleek, unmarked black SUV carrying the Vance crest on its license plate turned onto the avenue and approached the intersection, Eleanor braced her hands against the dashboard, her heart pounding with predatory anticipation. She believed she was about to execute the ultimate counterstroke. She had no idea she was driving straight into a steel trap designed by Sebastian Vance himself.
