Chapter 17 - Blood on the Crystal Chandelier
Julian knew that walking into Montauk unarmed was a suicide pact engineered by two master manipulators who had nothing left to lose. He gathered Arthur and Vance in his underground armory, opening steel lockers stocked with tactical gear, high-grade communications equipment, and specialized ballistic vests. “We play their game by the rules they can see,” Julian outlined coldly, strapping a lightweight Kevlar vest beneath Eleanor’s oversized winter coat. “Vance will coordinate with federal tactical teams to stage three miles out, keeping helicopters and sirens out of sight until the perimeter is breached.”
Julian equipped himself with a concealed ceramic blade, a subcompact sidearm hidden within his inner coat lining, and an emergency GPS beacon stitched directly into the lining of Eleanor’s leather boots. Eleanor sat quietly while Julian tightened the straps of her protective gear, her hand resting softly on her son’s shoulder with unwavering pride. “Your father was a coward who ran from his past, Julian,” Eleanor whispered softly, her eyes filled with maternal warmth. “You are the man he never had the courage to be, and whatever happens on those cliffs, you have redeemed our name.”
By 4:30 AM, Julian’s heavy black SUV was cutting through the dense coastal fog of eastern Long Island, the Atlantic Ocean crashing violently against the rocky cliffs below. The landscape grew increasingly desolate as they approached the decaying iron gates of Blackwood Manor, a rotting Gothic monstrosity perched dangerously close to the eroding cliffside edge. Dead ivy clung to the crumbling brick chimneys, and the boarded-up windows looked out over the churning ocean like hollow, empty eye sockets.
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As Julian pushed through the rusted gates, the headlights illuminated two figures standing on the expansive front porch, illuminated by the harsh glare of tactical halogen work lights. Victoria stood with an automatic rifle slung across her chest, watching them approach with cold amusement, while Evelyn sat in a high-backed wicker chair, toying with a heavy, polished silver baseball bat identical to the one Julian had kicked from her hands a year ago.
Julian brought the vehicle to a halt, cutting the engine and stepping out into the biting sea spray, keeping himself squarely between his mother and the two armed sisters. “I’m here, Evelyn,” Julian shouted over the roar of the surf, his hands held visible at shoulder height. “Maria walks down those steps to my car first, or you get nothing but a hail of federal lead.” Evelyn slowly stood up, dragging the metal bat along the stone porch steps, the screech of metal on stone sending shivers through the cold ocean air.
