Chapter 4 - The True Identity Of The Van Doren Patriarch Emerges
From the grand driveway outside, the deep rumble of a twin-turbo V8 engine resonated through the reinforced double glass front doors.
A custom bulletproof Maybach limousine pulled up to the front steps, its dark tinted windows completely obscuring the figure sitting inside the back.
Two tactical guards opened the rear passenger door, and an elderly man in a dark charcoal three-piece Savile Row suit stepped out onto the porch.
Alexander Van Doren, seventy-two years old, carried a silver-headed walking stick, his white hair slicked back with formidable, aristocratic dignity.
He was a man whose call could collapse stock markets in London, Tokyo, and New York before the opening bell even rang at nine morning.
He walked into the mansion foyer, flanked by four tactical operatives, his polished leather shoes clicking steadily against the white marble.
Victoria stood up from her velvet chair, her hands shaking so violently she had to hold onto the back of the furniture for support.
“Mr. Van Doren... sir... this is a private residence! You are trespassing on private property!” Victoria squeaked, her confidence completely destroyed.
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Alexander didn't even look at her; his piercing blue eyes moved straight to Elena, his expression softening into profound, maternal tenderness.
“Are you hurt, my sweet girl?” Alexander asked gently, stepping toward his daughter and taking her trembling hand in his warm palm.
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