Chapter 6 - The Brother’s Arrival
The thunder roared like an artillery barrage over the Vance Estate as the heavy wrought-iron security gates swung open, their electronic locks cleanly bypassed by an authorized digital override code. A matte-black Mercedes G-Wagon roared up the serpentine cobblestone driveway, its high-beam LED headlights cutting through the blinding sheets of rain.
The SUV screeched to a halt at the foot of the grand stone portico.
The driver’s door opened, and Julian Vance stepped out into the tempest. At thirty-five, Julian possessed the same aristocratic jawline and piercing gray eyes as his older brother, but his features were sharpened by a chronic, predatory restlessness. He wore an expensive charcoal wool trench coat over a tailored suit, his hair slicked back against the rain. Two men stepped out of the vehicle behind him—hulking, professional private security contractors dressed in civilian tactical wear, their jackets bulging slightly over concealed submachine guns.
Julian adjusted his cuffs, his eyes scanning the dark, silent facade of the mansion.
“No lights,” one of the contractors muttered, his hand resting instinctively near his sidearm. “The house is completely blacked out, Mr. Vance. Something’s off.”
“Vanessa is theatrical,” Julian replied, his voice laced with cold condescension. “She probably panicked when the storm knocked out the main transformer. Or she botched the administration of the digitalis and is currently having a nervous breakdown in the master bath.”
Julian pulled a suppressed 9mm pistol from his inner coat pocket and racked the slide with a clean, metallic *clack*.
“We go in, secure the hard drive from Nathan’s study, and verify the brother’s condition,” Julian commanded smoothly. “If Nathan is still breathing, we don't wait for the pills. We make it look like a tragic home invasion during the blackout. Clean, fast, and irreversible.”
“Understood.”
Julian swiped his master keycard against the front entrance scanner. The heavy double doors unlocked with a soft pneumatic hiss.
The trio stepped inside the grand foyer.
The air inside the mansion was heavy, cold, and dead. The only sound was the rhythmic dripping of water from their wet coats onto the black-and-white checkered marble floor. The crystal chandelier overhead hung dark and dormant.
“Check the master suite,” Julian whispered to the first guard. “Find Vanessa.”
The guard nodded, drawing his weapon and moving silently toward the sweeping curved staircase.
Julian turned toward the west corridor—the private wing leading directly to Nathan’s personal study and library. He moved with the confidence of a man who believed he held all the cards, who had spent eighteen months meticulously orchestrating the downfall of a brother he had envied and despised since childhood.
He reached the heavy mahogany doors of the library, turned the brass handle, and pushed them open.
Inside, the vast two-story library was bathed in the warm, flickering glow of a crackling fire in the massive stone hearth.
Sitting in the wingback chair directly in front of the flames, swirling a glass of single-malt Scotch, was Nathan.
He was fully dressed in his bespoke suit, his posture completely relaxed, looking every bit the unbothered patriarch of an empire.
Julian froze in the doorway, his fingers tightening around the grip of the concealed pistol inside his coat. His breath hitched in his throat.
“You’re up late, Julian,” Nathan said smoothly, without turning his head. “Especially for a man who has an international flight departing Teterboro in less than forty minutes.”
Julian’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. He signaled his remaining operative to stay back in the shadows of the doorway. Slowly, Julian walked into the library, his wet shoes leaving damp imprints on the Persian rug.
“Nathan,” Julian said, forcing a warm, charming smile onto his face, though his eyes remained entirely dead. “The storm knocked out cell service in the valley. I tried calling you. I was worried about Vanessa’s condition. With the baby due any week now... I thought I should drive up and check on you both.”
Nathan slowly turned his head, looking his younger brother up and down. A faint, humorless smile played at the corner of Nathan’s lips.
“The baby,” Nathan repeated softly. “Yes. The miraculous Vance heir. Tell me, Julian... what color nursery were you planning to decorate with the six hundred million dollars you embezzled from our neuro-regeneration accounts?”
Julian’s charming smile instantly vanished.
The air in the room plummeted into a suffocating, lethal silence. The fire crackled sharply, sending a shower of orange sparks drifting up the chimney flue.
“So,” Julian said, his voice dropping all pretense, turning flat and razor-sharp. “The hysterical bitch broke.”
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“She didn't break,” Nathan replied, standing up slowly from the leather chair. He towered over his younger brother, his broad shoulders squared, an aura of supreme, unshakeable authority radiating from him. “She deflated.”
***
